


falling fast, breathing slow

by timelxdy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Mostly Fluff, flowershop au, thasmin, thirteenth doctor au, this is gay, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-11-26 17:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxdy/pseuds/timelxdy
Summary: PC Yasmin Khan is on patrol one early spring morning when ditsy florist Jessie Smith stumbles into her life.





	1. blooming

**Author's Note:**

> tw for description of injuries, minor blood.

 

It’s a slow, easy morning on patrol for one Yasmin Khan, the beginnings of spring opening up fresh buds along the edges of the local park and giving the trees a greener, more voluminous appearance. Even the smells are different – freshly cut grass catching the breeze and whirling at her feet, washing powder lingering on the clothes decorating every washing line in sight, and the freshly-restocked bundles of yellow and pink brimming from their flower baskets outside each house she passes.

The difference a few weeks can make, Yaz ponders, taking in a breath of crisp morning air. She readjusts the radio attached to her shoulder and takes a look around, considering which way to take her beat. She could either turn right, straight into the town centre, or turn left, and head the long way around into town. Either way, she’s frustrated at her boss for sending her out on patrol on foot rather than more challenging work.

She takes a left at the end of the road, crossing at the lights to make headway towards a flower shop. It’s new, and there’s a slim blonde outside tinkering with a windchime, a smile as bright as the tulips and daffodils blooming at her feet despite it only being nine in the morning. There’s a considerably full cactus in a bright yellow pot positioned dangerously close to her side.

The sign above her head reads ‘TARDIS’, leaving the police officer to pause in her steps to decipher the name. She’s always loved puzzles, ever since she was a little girl, so she can’t help her interest. The blonde she’d noticed earlier blinks curious green eyes in her direction.

“Tulips and roses, daisies, irises, sunflowers - it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” She chirps, sunshine dancing behind glossy pupils. When she straightens up to water the lilies lining the hanging baskets overhead, however, she misjudges her balance and topples over with the elegance of a baby deer on ice.

Yaz sees the whole incident in slow motion, eyes widening and arms stretching out in an attempt to catch the other woman. It’s too late - by the time she’s grabbed her forearms, the damage has been done. Several spines break from the surface of the large, round cactus which catch the other woman’s back when she falls.

It happens so fast, yet so slow, and Yaz can only hone in on the pained gasp which breaks from the woman now caught in her arms just seconds from hitting the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit. Are you okay?” Yaz is quick into action, lifting the woman to stand before slipping an arm around her waist. She ensures she doesn’t nudge at the angry looking spines poking out from beneath her button up, once a pale green pretty little thing, now a blood freckled, slightly shredded piece of material. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

The bell above the door chimes as Yaz assists the blonde through to the back room of her shop, aided by her directions. She’s surprisingly calm for someone with potentially very painful spikes sunk into her flesh, each step causing a wince to dance across her previously bright expression.

Yaz decides then and there that she never wants to witness the same look on her face again.

“Come, sit. Can I take a look?” She guides her to the nearest stool, the room drowned in the scent of fresh flora and fauna.

She earns a quick nod from the blonde, who attempts a glance over her shoulder in intrigue. She only receives a sharp sting in return.

Petals dust the worktop in the middle of the room, which encompasses a conservatory-turned-workshop, an old wooden table in the centre and a large sink in the corner, surrounded by racks upon racks of potted plants as well as bouquets of closed buds, patiently waiting to spring to life.

There’s time to observe the room later, Yaz reminds herself, settling the other woman into her stool and rounding to her back to survey the damage.

“Okay, so, I do know first aid, but I must admit, I’ve never had to deal with cactus wounds before. I’m just going to have to google the correct way to do th-” Yaz is cut off mid-sentence by a single, slightly sheepish look from over the blonde’s shoulder.

“Tweezers and lots of soap and water, I’m afraid. I’d love to say that this is the first time this has happened, but… those barrel cacti really do hate me.”

Yaz is amazed - well and truly _amazed_ when the other woman lets out an amused laugh at her own expense. The wince which follows reminds her of her task.

“Okay, do you mind taking your shirt off for me while I find soap and some tweezers, honey?” Yaz quips, shrugging off her heavy duty jacket if only so she has better movement. It’s also pretty warm with the sun streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows. She rolls the sleeves of her crisp white shirt up, slipping over to the sink to wash her hands thoroughly.

“All this before the first date, huh?” The other woman croons, glancing back with a sly smirk. She starts to unbutton and shrug off her shirt, avoiding the spines as much as possible. Yaz can see tiny streams of deep red falling from each of the deeper punctures dotting her pale flesh as more skin is exposed, the loss of her shirt revealing a delicate daisy-lined bralette. “The tweezers are in the top drawer by the lilies and there’s a bucket and some flannels beneath the sink.”

“Gotcha.” Yaz nods as if taking orders from a sergeant. She sidles over to the sink to fill up a bucket and fetch the tweezers, then perches on a stool behind the other woman, wondering where to begin. “You said this has happened before, huh? Have you always been this clumsy?” The young police officer chides, plunging the flannel into the bucket of soapy water as she begins removing the first few thorns from delicate skin. She’s gentle, her free hand resting against the blonde’s shoulder blade when she wipes delicately at the punctured flesh.

“Pretty much, yeah. My dad always used to say that I’d trip over less with my shoelaces tied together,” the blonde murmurs, words wavering when Yaz plucks out one of the more deeply embedded needles.

Trying her hardest not to grow distracted by the lacy material just centimetres from her fingertips, Yaz presses the hot flannel against cool flesh once again, goosebumps raising to life on the other woman’s skin at the difference in temperature. “Not much longer, now. There’s only a few left. Clingy buggers, aren’t they?”

“How about, for each spine you take out, we take it in turns to ask each other a question?” the blonde suggests, sinking back into the soothing warmth of the material pressed against her back. It’s soaking through the clasp of her bra, but she doesn’t mind. It’s a welcome relief from the squeezes and pinches of tweezers.

“Bit masochistic, but alright,” Yaz teases, easing the flannel away so she can get back to work. There’s one such needle located directly between her shoulder blades, so Yaz leans in, breath ghosting against the curve of her shoulder to get a better view — she might also be breathing in her scent, just a touch. The needle is plucked out eventually, the sound of the blonde’s pained hiss making Yaz’s heart feel momentarily heavy. “Let’s start with names. I’m PC Yasmin Khan, but my friends call me Yaz. What can I call you?”

“Pretty name, Yaz,” she manages through gritted teeth, wincing. Another harsh scratch and the next needle drops into the bowl at her side. “I’m Jessica. Jessica Smith, but everyone calls me Jessie.”

She almost purrs at the gentle pressure of the material against her back, the muscles in her shoulders finally able to relax. Yaz takes notice, adding a little more pressure so she can massage over the gashes littering perfectly unblemished skin.

Yaz eyes the next spine in concern - it seems to be the deepest of them all, tiny droplets of blood trickling between her fingers and into her palm as she slowly, as tentatively as possible, removes it from her shoulder. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you, Jessie. This one’s the worst of them, I promise.”

She holds the dampened towel just under the puncture, ready to dab away spots of blood if necessary.

Surprisingly, Jessie hardly flinches, all apart from the pained hiss she attempts to disguise into her palm. “God, no. You’re doing great, Yaz. This doesn’t hurt half as much as the last dozen times. How long have you worked in the police?”

Yaz is more than a little concerned when the blonde mentions how many times this has happened, eyes widening in slight alarm. But she glosses over it, saving it for another time.

“Almost two years now, actually.” She answers, giving the faintest of sighs. Jessie, however, can feel the breeze against her skin, picking up on the woman’s frustration.

“You’re not enjoying it, huh?” Jessie quips, the genuine concern in her voice leaving Yaz unable to resist opening up. There’s something about the warm green eyes that glance quickly over her shoulder which make the blonde so trusting. Yaz has to remind herself it’s only been ten minutes since they met. 

“It’s not that. It’s just -- I want _more_. Something more challenging, you know? And my boss just won’t listen.” Yaz admits, plucking another needle from where it clings to smooth skin. She’s almost a little annoyed that the tiny spores have the gall to attempt to ruin such perfect flesh. “Hey, wait, that’s cheating -- you asked two questions in a row.”

“Oops,” Jessie breathes a short laugh, able to relax now that the majority of the discomfort has dissipated. She shifts in her seat, growing fidgety - she’s not used to sitting still for this long, and it doesn’t react well with her usually lively nature. “Okay, your turn. Ask me something.”

Full lips purse in thought, eyebrows pinching together. “How long have you worked as a florist? I swear this place wasn’t even here a week ago.”

Jessie lets out a soft hum when the warm flannel is pressed to her back again, absorbing up the gashes she’s earnt for being so innately clumsy. “She’s been refurbished, that’s all. She used to be my mother’s toy shop, but she retired six months ago and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with it since. I love helping things grow and the smell of flowers, so… here I am.”

Yaz can already tell she’s well-suited to the job, after all, she’s never seen a florist look so alive and thriving in colour. Perhaps the flora and fauna can utilise her sunny disposition to grow somehow. She’s so busy theorising that she doesn’t take notice of Jessie’s follow-up question, fingertips lingering against tender skin when the flannel slips. “Sorry, what was that next question? I was in my own little world, sorry.”

Goosebumps spring to life in Jessie’s skin once more, though this time, they’re not as a result of the cold. She clears her throat, glad that Yaz can’t spot her pinkened cheeks and chest. “Uh - it was - um, what made you become a police officer?”

“I just like to help, really. Plus -- it feels so good to prove people wrong sometimes,” Yaz admits, a hint of pride in her tone.

“How do you mean?” Jessie queries, her voice lilting when Yaz’s hand pulls away. She misses it instantly.

“There was this girl, back in primary school - Izzy Flint. She told me I’d never make anything of my life. Then, my year eleven teacher told me I could never become a police officer, which only made me try _harder_.” Yaz pauses, chuckling to herself. “Sorry, I don’t usually just… tell people things like this. You’re annoyingly trustworthy, Jessie.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jessie turns when Yaz slides the bucket of hot water aside, seemingly finished. “All cleaned up, officer?”

After an amused laugh, Yaz smirks, nodding. “I finished five minutes ago.”

“You did?” Jessie splutters, warmth spreading over her features until she’s pink to the tip of her nose. “I guess time flies when you’re… having cactus needles removed from your back by a police officer. Wait -- wait, aren’t you meant to be working?”

Yaz fetches her jacket, draping it over Jessie’s shoulders when she spots her shivering a touch. “This counts as work, right? Just - uh, don’t tell my boss.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. I’m a professional.” Jessie offers up a mischievous twitch of her lips, tapping a fingertip to her nose and scrunching it in turn. She then pulls the jacket tighter around herself, nudging her nose at the collar to not-so-subtly take in her scent. It’s an adorable little performance, captured and recorded in the visual centres of Yaz’s brain for safe-keeping.

“I’d better head off, I suppose.” She rounds the table, gathering up the pile of needles to dispose of. “Need any police tape to keep people away from that cactus? Actually, let me rephrase that. Do you need any police tape to keep _yourself_ away from that cactus?”

“Very funny,” Jessie drawls, rolling her eyes in faux-annoyance. She follows her through to the main shop, cluttered with tulips, hyacinths, peonies and deep purple irises, all lined up ready to bunch into colourful bouquets.

“In all seriousness, thank you so much for all your help,” Jessie pauses at the door, the morning sun highlighting the different shades of blonde in her short hair. She curls her arms around herself, leaning against the frame to catch the sun’s rays against her features, lingering in the warmth it offers.

“No problem. Happy to help. Just… please try and be more careful in the future, okay?” Yaz prompts, a single brow raising in weakly disguised concern. She tilts her hat at the other woman, offering up one last affectionate smile. “I guess I’ll see you around, Jessie. Get those wounds checked out if they get too painful and take it easy.”

“I will, I promise. See you around, Yaz,” Jessie croons, features softening as she watches the other woman turn and amble back along the street.

Precisely two minutes later, Yaz has finally returned back to reality, no longer amidst a daze of glossy blonde hair and bluebells. She reaches up to tap into the radio at her shoulder, hoping for a call-in, only to find the material of her shirt. She pauses in her steps, glancing over her shoulder at the same time as building footsteps head in her direction.

“Your jacket!” Jessie chimes over the sound of a bird singing nearby, a fresh button-up dotted with tiny stars replacing her damaged one. She’s jogging towards her, features flinching with each second step she takes. When she arrives at her side, she offers up the thick black garment, accompanied by her radio, then grins. “Thought I wouldn’t be able to catch up fast enough. Here you go.”

“What did I just say about taking it easy? I would’ve remembered, silly.” Yaz gives her a grateful smile, though, shrugging her jacket on. “Have a great day, Jessie.”

“You too, officer.” Jessie turns, heading in the opposite direction to her counterpart with a coy little wave over her shoulder, which, somehow, in the process, turns into more of a salute. She blames it on the fog clouding her mind when she meets eyes with Yaz for the last time. She’s bright and calm and even brings warmth to the parts of Jessie’s soul formerly hidden in the shade. _It’s been twenty minutes; imagine a whole lifetime’s worth?_

Yaz turns at the end of the street, catching a glimpse of green eyes and blonde locks just before they disappear from view. She slips her hands into her pockets, fingertips catching on something unfamiliar; something curved. She plucks the object from its depths, catching sight of scrawling, handwritten blue calligraphy. It reads: ‘TARDIS Florists, Jessie Smith’, alongside an eleven digit number, and Yaz’s heart somersaults and flutters to life in her chest.

_Either she’s too forgetful for her own good, or one hell of a good flirt._


	2. warmth in familiarity

“I promise I’m not stalking you, I just came by to grab some flowers for my mum’s birthd- Ryan Sinclair? Is that you?” PC Khan quips, curiosity peaking when she spots none other than her primary school friend crouched beside the counter of her new favourite flower shop, brushing spilt soil into a dustpan.

He curses under his breath, glancing up at the somewhat familiar voice - he can’t pinpoint why until he takes in her features. His own soften in recognition. “Yasmin Khan? Redlands Primary?”

He earns a swift nod in response, and the young police officer toes past the chiming door and inside the shop to help her former school friend. She reaches for the offending plant he’d dropped in surprise, the roots blooming and healthy as she settles it aside in a fresh pot of soil.

“Fair do’s, Yaz. look at you. Wow. You’re a fed.” Ryan chuckles, though his expression shows he’s genuinely impressed. He manages to clear up the majority of the soil, pouring it into a baby blue pot at his side and collecting the fragments of the pot he’d smashed.

“Yeah, we don’t - we don’t really call it that. This your first day?” Yaz chimes, still smiling despite herself. She can’t see Jessie around, which tugs at her heartstrings a touch, but she’s happy to see a recognisable face nonetheless.

“Yeah. I’ve already managed to break two pots today, so you’ll be lucky to see me here again tomorrow.” Ryan admits, breathing a surprisingly defeated chuckle at his own expense.

Yaz is having none of it, fixing him with a stern but warm look. “Hey! When has dyspraxia ever held you back before, Ryan?”

“Still optimistic as ever, Yaz.” There’s a lightness to Ryan’s features now, though, a flush to his cheeks and a dash of hope in his dark pupils.

Yaz gives his elbow a playful nudge as she passes, heading to the back room to dispose of the remnants of the red clay pot. It’s only once she glances through the window that she spots the mess of blonde hair idly watering the plants and shrubbery at the back of the shop, a blue, polka-dot apron layered over a pair of cropped jeans and a rainbow-printed pink top.

She watches her wistfully for a few more moments before the blonde feels eyes on her and turns, catching Yaz’s gaze through the thin pane of glass. It comes as a pleasant surprise to Yaz when Jessie’s whole face lights up, misjudging the position of her watering can in her distracted state and leaving her with water pouring into bright yellow wellington boots.

Yaz’s laughter bounces off the walls and almost brings tears to her eyes when she observes the blonde trudging up the path to the back door, left ajar to allow the warm spring breeze to breathe life to the plants inside.

“If you’re laughing at me, I have the right to refuse you service, you know?” Jessie chides, faux-annoyance lacing her words. She shrugs off her boots and sets down the can, eyeing the pile of pottery shards in Yaz’s hands with a small hint of surprise, but she’s hardly disappointed. 

“I take it you’ve met my new colleague?” Jessie smiles coyly, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear and, in the process, leaving a smudge of soil against her cheek.

If Yaz didn’t find her so enthralling, she’d be worried about her oblivious nature. She motions to the brown substance clinging to her skin, encouraging a bright blush to spread over Jessie’s features when she turns to wash her hands and face at the sink.

“I went to school with him, actually. He’s sweet. Totally harmless,” Yaz quips, sidling over to lean a hip against the table when Jessie turns back.

“It’s a small world, huh?” Jessie says thoughtfully, tilting her head and giving her a faraway look. There’s a hint of something else in her eyes, a flash of jealousy, perhaps? - which leaves Yaz a touch confused until she thinks back for a few seconds. 

“Just a shame he’s definitely not my type, I guess,” Yaz admits, gaze pointedly lifting to settle on her own for a split second. When it starts to burn and chip away at her insides, she has to look away for fear of combusting, the heat in her cheeks fueling the hope in her counterpart’s chest.

“Oh, good. Good? I mean - yes, it’s good that you’ve met him. I think I’ll keep him on.” Jessie stutters, wiping her hands on a rag left close by. “Was there anything you dropped by for in particular?”

Yaz is momentarily grateful that she’s good at thinking under pressure, blinking helplessly at her boot-clad toes for a few moments before she raises her head with a triumphant grin.

“Well, firstly, I was just checking you hadn’t caused any more chaos, but also, it’s my mum’s birthday tomorrow. I know absolutely _nothing_ about flowers so I was hoping you could help?”

It seems she’s asked the perfect question if the sudden fervour flashing in Jessie’s eyes is anything to go by.

“Yaz Khan, you say all the right things.” Jessie chimes, leading the way through to the main florist with ardour. She sidles over to a section full of deep fuschia petaled flowers, a delicate ring of yellow embracing their centres.

In a different time, Yaz would be tempted to count each individual petal, eyes on the blonde at her side. _Does she?_ A pluck of a pink petal from its root. _Does she not?_ Another, more urgent pluck.

_But this is not the time for such gestures: she’s only met her twice, for goodness’ sake._

“These are Transvaal Daisies; said to communicate joy and happiness. Very common for family members, especially mums.” Crouching, she leans her elbows on her knees, rooting out a larger, more patterned blossom. The buds are yellow, closed - dormant and ready to burst open.

“Or there’s the classic tulip. These yellow ones are the best; they always seem to last longer than the rest.” She half-whispers the last part as though agents in the field of floristry are listening to her every word.

Yaz pops her brows in both intrigue and encouragement; she could listen to Jessie talk so passionately about flowers all day.

“What about these?” Yaz counters, touching her fingertips to the striped white petals to Jessie’s left.

“Those are Alstroemeria. Also known as the Peruvian Lily. Can you see how the leaves grow upside down? And the bottom faces upwards? Apparently it’s meant to symbolise the growth of relationships, familial, or just - y’know, and - and devotion.” Jessie lingers on the last few words, straightening up to find out just _how_ close she is to the other woman. Her lashes flutter, pupils darting momentarily between rich brown pupils and plush lips.

Yaz is the first to drag herself away, alight with a sensation she hasn’t harboured since Evie Jones in year twelve and multiple strangers in bars and clubs over the years. “I think I’m going to have to go with all three.”

Green pupils dance with modesty, expert hands picking a handful of stems from each section and all but skipping to the counter. Once they’re secured together, Jessie finally tears her focus away from the plants she seemingly knows everything about.

“What’s your mum’s favourite colour?” She pipes, motioning to the coloured bouquet wrapping. There’s a deep purple one with tiny polka dots littering its surface, akin to Jessie’s apron.

“Purple.” Yaz lifts a hand, fingertips dancing over the material at the _precise_ moment the blonde, too, decides to perform the action. Her skin is soft, so soft, as though her fingers are curling and nestling into a pillow on lazy mornings, refusing to rouse from slumber. But they’re also strong, able to grip and squeeze and form pools of purple and red in wanton ways.  

When Yaz locks eyes with the florist again, she can see a similar inquisition laced in green irises. The very tips of her fingers twitch against their unfamiliar purchase until they’re slowly, tentatively sliding between Jessie’s. Everything moves in slow motion and they’re just sort of, _lost_ for a length of time she can’t quite figure out.

“Everything alright, you guys?” Ryan drawls from the doorway. He’s smirking beneath his perfectly innocent expression, leaving both women to wonder how long he’d been standing there for.

Yaz is the first to pull back, putting on the most composed expression she can muster and allowing Jessie to distractedly assemble her bouquet. She won’t mention the fact that it’s not her mother’s birthday for another few months.

“Just peachy. In fact, it’s five o’clock now, Ryan. What are you still doing here? You should be out with your mates, doing… y’know, stuff mates do.” Jessie quips, a shaky tinge to her voice which can only be blamed on the fact Yaz is still standing so close.

There’s an exaggerated sigh of relief from the other side of the room as Ryan grabs his jacket off the clothes hook.

“Hey! Don’t think I didn’t notice you checking those cacti were well-watered every five minutes. You _love_ it here, buddy.” Jessie croons, nose pinching in another of those scrunched looks she gives which leaves Yaz beaming.

Ryan lifts his hands in surrender, his chuckle genuine as he heads towards the door. “Alright, alright. It’s pretty cool working here. See you tomorrow, Jessie. Nice seeing you again, Yaz! Now, I’ll leave you two to figure out how to relieve some of that tension.”

He’s out the door before either woman can protest, making his way along the street.

“That was…-” Jessie starts, cheeks flushing, heart thudding. She’ll curse herself for being so distracted later. She focuses on finishing up with the flowers for now, if only to stop her insides from turning to jelly.

“Interesting. How much do I owe you?” Yaz finishes for her when the sentence lingers in the air, popping her hip against the counter to fish in her pockets for her purse. One benefit of her work uniform - bigger pockets. 

“That should be…” Jessie taps the order through the till, quirks a brow and leans her elbows against the counter. “On the house.”

Yaz pauses, tilting her head to offer up a questioning look. “ _Jessie._ C’mon, how much?”

The blonde has to clear her throat at the sound of her name said in such a tone, goosebumps rising to life in her arms and the back of her neck.

“People who look like they’ve had a long day at work get a free bouquet. That’s the rule. No takesie-backsies.” Jessie beams, chipper and smug when Yaz finally pockets her purse.

“Since when was that a new rule?” Yaz chides, though she’s not complaining. The coy lilt to her voice makes Jessie’s knees beg to give way from under her.

“Since… about twenty seconds ago, to be exact.” Jessie responds as though it’s the cleverest thing she’s ever said. She earns an amused roll of brown eyes by way of response.

“Do you reckon I could pay you back by… getting you coffee, sometime?” Yaz pipes up, and suddenly Jessie isn’t the one in the lead. She looks up from the flowers like a deer caught in headlights, and Yaz is surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.

Jessie’s lips part on a response, her mind momentarily fizzling and thrumming out of control and really not helping in any way. The one time she needs it most, and it’s occupied by repeating the question over and over again.

“Yes! I mean -... yes. That would be -” Fun? Great? The best possible scenario? “ - _brilliant,”_ she beams, straightening up to hand over the flowers. Then she pauses.

“You have my number, right? I slipped it into your p-”

“Yes, I’ve kept it. Not like _that._ I just - safe-keeping, y’know.”

Jessie simply chortles by way of response, ignoring the flutter in her chest and the sudden flames burning her skin.

“I’ll text you the details?” Yaz back-steps towards the door, refusing to break eye contact. That is until she scuffs the back of her boot on a flower pot and almost tumbles, so she quickly decides to be a little more sensible with her feet.

She turns to the door, held ajar by a stone littered with delicately painted ladybirds. The flowers in her hands catch the light, inventing a whole new set of colours for themselves.

“See you soon, Jessie.”

“You too, Yaz,” the blonde all but purrs, finding herself gravitating towards the entrance just to watch her cross the street and head home. Purely to make sure she gets to the other side safe, that’s all. Entirely innocent.

When she returns to clear up, however, she notices a whisp of lined paper tucked underneath the coloured paper on her desk. Yaz’s name is scrawled in perfect calligraphy, followed by an eleven digit number. Jessie sighs wistfully, plucking her phone from her back pocket and typing it in, quick as a flash.

Yaz doesn’t hold back the laugh which slips past her lips when her phone announces a new message with a short buzz, brown eyes darting across the screen to read its contents.

She already has the number saved. For safety reasons only, of course.

[ **Jessie** ]

Ma’am, you are a COPYCAT. That was MY move.


	3. would you be so kind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my sincerest apologies for taking SO DAMN LONG on this chapter, I have no excuse other than being a huge procrastinator. love yall peace out

“Hello? Earth to Yaz?”

There’s movement in Yaz’s peripherals as her thumbs tap away busily at the surface of her mobile phone, immersed in conversation. Her attention is only diverted when a voice nearby raises.

“ _Yaz,”_ her colleague, Bill, nudges at her elbow, sending the device dropping lightly to her desk. “Oops! Totally didn’t mean for that to happen. So, who’s the lucky person?”

Heat floods to Yaz’s cheeks in an instant, leaving fumbling fingers to scoop her phone back up to check for any fresh messages. Once she’s triple-checked there aren’t, she eases up, turning to offer a smile radiating with faux-innocence. “I don’t know what you mean?”

Bill can see through her facade with ease, narrowing her eyes in a look which simply boasts ‘you know exactly what I mean’.

“She’s just a friend,” though the smile blooming to life on her lips when she receives a reply suggests otherwise.

“A friend you’re having a coffee date with after work?” A thin post-it detailing a date and time with a kiss twirls between Bill’s fingers, the smuggest of smirks gracing her features.

Yaz is quick to snatch the paper back, tugging the collar of her shirt up to hide the redness growing along her neck. “It’s just coffee!”

“Sure, just coffee.” Both of Bill’s brows raise, however, and she remains in place, simply staring until Yaz has to physically turn her computer screen around to hide from view.

She’s granted a peaceful quiet for five or so minutes until Bill grows bored at the desk beside her again if her irritating pen-clicking is anything to go by.

“Can I at least find out her name?” She quips, a mess of black curls popping up from behind her screen. Yaz is ready to flip her off before a chime alerts her to another message, and she softens.

“Jessie - Jessica, to you,” she remarks with a tip of her chin, regaining a little confidence as she responds to her text.

“Oh, I see. Already onto the pet names, is it?” Bill teases, aiming to fluster the other woman as much as possible. It’s revenge, in a way, since conversations like this are usually the other way around.

As soon as Yaz shoots another text off and sets her phone down, she regrets her actions. Bill smoothly swipes for the device and rolls her chair back, out of Yaz’s way. She’s got a full inch to her benefit as she raises the mobile out of arm’s reach, swiping through the messages with her free hand.

“Oh, _Yaz._ You really need to up your game. This is _killing_ me.”

“Give it back!” Yaz lunges for the mobile, only to fall short of its reach once more.

“ _Boy_ , can this woman send enough emojis.” Only once she’s scrolled to the bottom of the messages does Bill hand the phone back, innocence lacing her features.

Yaz rolls her eyes, offering her closest friend a huff. “Shut - wait! Did you just - ?” Her gaze falls to the last message she’d supposedly sent to Jessie, cheeks blooming with fierce heat.

_How about we skip coffee? My place at seven instead. X_

She’s halfway through a frantic message back, all flailing thumbs and misspelt words until a buzz drags her eyes back up to their string of texts.

_No time like the present, I guess! Sounds like a plan. What’s your address? X_

A strangled noise escapes from Yaz’s lips when she realises she doesn’t have time to explain her change of heart, so she curses herself when thumbs tap against keys in defeat. She types out her address without question, shooting off another text while her stomach flips.

“Is that a good sound? Did she say yes? Did she send you a picture of her tits?” Bill interrogates, leaning over her shoulder to steal another glance at the screen. She’s sniggering, the thread of text working only to encourage her.

_Perfect! See you then! X_

“Oh no. _Oh no,”_ Yaz chants, setting her phone down against the desk and dropping her head into the space next to it. “This can’t be happening. I’m - I don't even have anything to wear. The flat’s a mess. I don’t have any kind of plan.”

Bill, ever the helpful best friend, gives Yaz a nudge with the tip of her pen, scrawling blue ink carelessly against the back of her hand. “You could just stay in your uniform. I bet she’d _love_ that.”

“Remind me never to ask for your advice again,” Yaz huffs, rubbing away the ink with a frown. It does nothing to quell the other woman’s laughter.

 

* * *

 

A bundle of white lilies bloom against the navy blouse hugging Jessie’s frame. She approaches the door to Yaz’s flat with a stomach full of butterflies and cheeks full of warmth, taking a moment or two to compose herself before four gentle knocks rap against its surface.

A steadying inhale of air fills her lungs right before the door swings open, revealing Yaz out of uniform and fresh as a daisy and Jessie suddenly debates whether she’s picked the right flowers.

Her worries ease when a beaming Yaz accepts the bouquet with a soft gasp, stepping back to allow the blonde entrance to her flat. “You really shouldn’t have. I still owe you for last time!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I literally have a whole shop full,” Jessie laughs, raising a hand to glide it through blonde tresses and untangle any knots the spring breeze encouraged. “S’cosy in here.”

Yaz leads the way into the open-planned kitchen and dining room, fishing through cupboards for a suitable vase. It gives Jessie the opportunity to explore, curiously admiring each little detail which makes the flat a home, anything which links in with the dark-haired woman’s personality, anything unique or sentimental.

What she does notice is the batch of flowers settled in a glass vase on her coffee table, the same flowers she’d picked out, supposedly, for her mother a week earlier. She tries to hide her smirk when the penny drops, instead busying herself with Yaz’s extensive film collection.

“Oh, man. Don’t look at those. They’ve been collecting dust for years. I promise my taste in films isn’t that bad anymore,” Yaz blushes, settling the fresh flowers on the coffee table alongside their counterpart.

She lingers, eyeing the still blooming flowers as though they’re an enemy. She can only hope Jessie hasn’t noticed their presence.

“You shouldn’t put yourself down! Some of these are classics. I mean - _Thelma and Louise!_ Bend It Like Beckham? Oh! Imagine Me and You!” Jessie runs her fingers over the spines of each DVD with childlike enthusiasm, crouched beside her television.

Yaz chooses the opportunity to lean against her couch, perching against the purple material of the armrest and admiring the blonde with an amused expression. It’s a look she often seems to send in her direction, the other woman’s constant energy drawing out her own.

“I was thinking maybe we could watch one? I’ve never actually had anyone around who wasn’t family before, so I’m a bit rusty in the whole ‘how to entertain guests’ department.” Her words are filled with nerves which only intensify when Jessie shoots a glance over her shoulder, reassurance dancing in her eyes.

“That’d be brilliant! Haven’t sat down and watched a film with someone in _years._ Got any popcorn?” Jessie counters, as enthusiastic as ever.

“You read my mind. Grab a DVD and make yourself at home while I fetch the snacks,” Yaz quips, padding into the kitchen to root through her cupboards for a bag of popcorn and some crisps. She notices the pair of eyes on her as she leaves, warmth spreading up from the base of her neck.

Jessie scoops up a copy of _Imagine Me and You_ once she’s admired her elegant form leave the room, and plonks herself down onto the comfy sofa. “I love the sofa, by the way! Purple is my favourite colour,” she calls after her in childlike excitement.

She can hear Yaz’s chuckle through the doorway, where popcorn falls into a bowl big enough for two.

“Thanks! It was the first piece of furniture to arrive here when I moved in. My mum always says it’s too bold.” Yaz pokes her head around the door, taking in the sight of the blonde’s features cast against the dim orange glow of her lights. She’s momentarily distracted, but she manages to blink herself out of her reverie in time to ask, “Would you like a drink? Squash? Tea? Coffee? Water?”

“Squash will do, thanks. And what’s wrong with bold?” The question is posed in a rhetorical fashion, but Yaz can’t help but link it to Jessie’s bright personality and outgoing nature.

Yaz ambles back into the room, a bowl and two full glasses in hand, and sets them down on the coffee table. “What film did you pick?”

“Imagine Me and You. I haven’t watched it since it came out. Isn’t it about a florist who falls for one of her customers?” The blonde quips in question, a teasing lilt to her voice. Yaz hums her agreement until once more, the penny drops. She turns back to fix Jessie with a bemused look, despite the flames licking at her cheeks.

“You picked that on purpose, didn’t y-”

“Yep,” Jessie laughs, tucking her feet up beside herself and smirking against the rim of her glass. Yaz tries her hardest not to stare at the imprint of rouge lipstick she leaves behind.

“You’re lucky I like flowers,” Yaz teases, ducking down to slot the DVD into her DVD player. She’s stayed loyal to the trusty machine ever since her seventeenth birthday. If DVD’s are out of fashion now, she doesn’t care.

“I guess I am, actually,” Jessie hums. The sly comment Yaz had expected in return doesn’t come, and so she turns her head to give Jessie a questioning look. She sees the affectionate expression gracing her features and immediately softens in a fashion which is entirely too fond for someone who’s known this woman less than a month.

Instead of spluttering over her words or risking further flustering, Yaz stuffs a handful of popcorn past her lips and sits back to press play.

The screen fades to a shade of orange as the opening credits roll, and Jessie slips a pair of glasses from her bag to better watch the scenes unfold. They’re thickly rimmed and make a stark contrast to the blonde of her hair, and Yaz is suddenly very, very glad she’d proposed watching a film. She’s also grateful the screen serves as a distraction so she can take in the sight like a horny teenage boy at the edge of adolescence.

“Sorry. Going half blind in my old age, y’see,” Jessie jokes, nudging the elegant accessory further up the slope of her nose.

“There’s no reason to apologise. They suit you. I reckon you could pull off anything. I’m pretty sure you could even pull off a t-shirt covered in rainbows and bright yellow braces if you wanted,” Yaz counters, reluctantly dragging her gaze back to the screen as heat floods her cheeks. Did she say too much? Did she say all the words in the right order?

“I actually used to wear something similar to that back in university. Good to know I didn’t spend three years looking like I’d gotten dressed in the dark,” she quips back, taking a sip of her drink while the main character makes her first appearance.

“Here we go!” Jessie says rather excitedly, bumping shoulders with Yaz. She doesn’t stop to question who moved closer to who - she isn’t going to risk losing their proximity.

When both women dive for the popcorn ten minutes into the film, the gentlest brush of fingertips against fingertips warms their bodies to the very core. Jessie can only imagine what prolonged contact would do to them.

The bowl is soon settled in Yaz’s lap, so neither woman has to break a sweat reaching for a handful of popcorn - it’s more for Jessie's benefit since the woman can’t seem to perform any action without an element of clumsiness. Hence the pool of popcorn currently merging into the carpet beneath their feet. Yaz can only snort and offer up amused eye rolls when, despite the new location, Jessie still manages to let at least two of the offending snacks tumble onto the floor with every portion cupped into her palm.

“I’ll clean those up later, promise,” Jessie chortles, on the receiving end of Yaz’s amusement. She gives the knee closest to her palm a playful pat, but when said palm doesn’t shift from its place over a denim-clad knee, Yaz’s teasing turns to an immense determination not to show how much her touch burns through the thick material.

It’s hard to cater her sole attention to the film after that, especially since Jessie’s hand shows no sign of budging.

The rest of the film goes by with minimal popcorn wastage and the occasional battle for subtle glances over each other's hands, hair, features. In the low light, Yaz can still manage to count the faint freckles the summer has prompted to bloom over the curve of her nose. She gets to approximately ten during each attempt before Jessie catches her in the act.

In all honesty, Yaz would rather watch the film reflected through the lenses of Jessie’s glasses.

“You have a - let me just-” Jessie reaches out during one such occasion, plucking a piece of popcorn from the collar of Yaz’s shirt and popping it past her lips with a pleased hum, lashes fluttering. Yaz sinks back against the sofa and wills her imagination not to place that hum in a whole different scenario. Bill was right; she really does need to up her game.

“You’re a wanker, number nine!” The women shout in unison as the final iconic scene plays out, Jessie’s hand tightening its grip around Yaz’s knee in anticipation of the two main character’s reunion. Yaz drops a hand to rest atop of hers in a bold move under the guise of her own excitement.

“It’s about time there’s a happy ending,” Yaz murmurs while the two characters embrace passionately. Jessie is on her wavelength instantly, turning her gaze from the screen with a ‘tell me about it’ expression gracing her features.

“It’s a beautiful ending. I wish more films like this were so lucky,” Jessie counters, breaking the thoughtful quiet when she flicks a piece of popcorn in Yaz’s direction. After an initial splutter, her counterpart raises her brows in challenge.

“Try again. If I catch it in my mouth, you owe me another bouquet, if I don’t, I’ll buy you coffee every day for a week and personally deliver it to the TARDIS,” Yaz suggests, sitting back in her seat and almost sighing at the loss of Jessie’s hand on her knee when the blonde also shuffles back to make room. She chooses not to mention the fact that she’d happily bring her coffee every morning anyway.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll get more out of this than you, so it’s a deal,” Jessie beams, competitiveness driving her to shuffle even further out of reach.

The minute she lunges for a piece of popcorn, Yaz narrows her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, drawing her knees up to her chest and eyeing her over the top. “Count me down.”

“Three… two, one,” Jessie calls, then flicks the kernel towards its target.

It lands millimetres shy of Yaz’s lips, and Jessie all but leaps from the couch to celebrate her win.

Yaz will never reveal her decision to move out of the way just enough at the last second.

“I win! Did I ever tell you how much I love coffee?” Jessie teases, settling back down and scooping the piece of popcorn from where it had landed in Yaz’s hair without thought.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” Yaz faux-whines, slumping back into the sofa. This only gives Jessie all the more reason to prop her feet up into her lap, wriggling her odd-socked toes like the absolute child Yaz knows she is.

When Yaz raises a brow in question, Jessie shrugs. “I couldn’t decide between my two favourite pairs of socks, so I found the best of both worlds.” Another wriggle follows, and Yaz resists the urge to tickle the bottoms of her feet. She can already picture the scenario in her head; Jessie squirming and gasping and Yaz flustered and warm. The sheer thought is enough to send her mind spiralling.

Jessie can almost hear the cogs turning in Yaz’s brain from the other end of the sofa, where she’s begun glancing around the room again, gaze settling on a frame gracing her mantelpiece. “Is that your fam?”

The slang term is enough to make Yaz blink out of her reverie, pulling a face. “Fam? Really? You’ve clearly been spending too much time with Ryan. But yes, they’re my _family._ That’s my mum, Najia, my dad, Hakim, and my sister, Sonya.”

The adorable scrunch of Jessie’s nose she earns by way of response makes Yaz glad she spoke up, biting back a laugh.

“Are you the younger sibling?” Jessie quips curiously, and Yaz is surprised by the genuine intrigue in her tone.

“She’s the youngest. If you met her, you’d know straight away. She’s a nightmare,” Yaz admits, though her tone is fond. “What’s your family like? Are you all hyperactive and clumsy?”

“Exactly as you’d expect, really, but I don’t get to see them very much. They live in Gallifrey, Ireland,” Jessie slips her glasses off to wipe at the lens with her sleeve, then sits them atop her head. Her eyes look a little greener now.

“Really? You don’t sound Irish - not to me, at least,” Yaz probes, settling her arms atop Jessie’s calves and absently toying with the material of her jeans. On a few occasions, she brushes her fingertips against the skin of her ankle, observing the beginnings of a tattoo. More and more questions flood her mind - she wants to know _everything_ about this woman.

“Not at all, no. My dad, Sidney, is from Nottingham. He’s a curator now, back in Ireland. My mum, Verity, was a nurse, actually. Now she works as a lecturer at the University of Gallifrey.”

They go on like this for a while, back and forth with questions and answers, until fatigue sets in and Jessie masks a yawn behind her palm.

“It’s your fault for making me so comfy,” Jessie murmurs when Yaz informs her of the time, pulling herself up into a sitting position and stretching her arms. She slips her feet from Yaz’s lap and allows the other woman to sit up properly once more.

The movement of her arms means that Jessie’s blouse inches up, up, and gives a fleeting hint of slim, toned stomach, and Yaz has to swallow thickly and look away for fear of being caught.

Jessie catches on anyway, shooting a smug look at Yaz’s form. “Guess I should be off, though. About the coffee thing - you really don’t have to actually do that, you know? I was only teasing.”

Yaz glances over, then, offering up a shy smile. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning. How many sugars do you take?”

Jessie pulls herself up off the couch, fixing her blouse from where it had rumpled during their lazy evening. “Sometimes four, sometimes ten,” she quips without hesitation, and somehow Yaz is not surprised in the slightest by the revelation.

“Of course you do,” Yaz chuckles, busying herself and further avoiding Jessie’s departure by setting their glasses and bowl in the sink to soak. When she turns back, Jessie is shrugging her bag over her shoulder and smoothing down the cushions they’d dishevelled.

“Did I mention? _Love_ the sofa,” she repeats, the bubbly grin she sends Yaz melting her right to her core. She wants to see that smile every morning this week, and every morning after that.

“I’m going to come home sometime and it’ll have disappeared, aren’t I?” Yaz teases, following Jessie’s footsteps towards the door with a hint of reluctance.

“Nah. You’re just going to have to invite me around a lot more. Maybe then I’ll take mercy,” Jessie drawls, her voice filled with suggestions of something a lot less innocent. Her eyes match, pupils growing into deep, dark pools of… desire? Yaz can’t quite pinpoint their nature, but it’s enough to lurch at the depths of her core. She has to clear her throat, the source of her sudden flushed nature plain as day to Jessie.

She opens the door, allowing a very pleased looking Jessie to step out into the corridor. Yaz leans against the frame, propping the door open on its hinge. “You better stay safe out there. And please, please call me if you need me, okay? Can I call you a cab?”

“Don’t fuss, honestly. Your police officer is showing,” Jessie laughs, slipping her phone from her pocket. “I’ll call for a cab as soon as I’m out of here, I promise.”

Yaz breathes a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding, and suddenly she’s shy again, looking to Jessie cluelessly as though she’s never said goodbye to anyone in her life.

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” are the last words Yaz registers before she’s dragged into a tight hug, slim arms encircling her shoulders while her own navigate Jessie’s waist. “And thank you for this evening. It’s been the best night I’ve had in an embarrassingly long time.”

“I’m pretty sure any night with you is a pretty great one,” Yaz muffles against her shoulder, taking in her scent as though it’s the only air she can breathe. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Jessie hums, arms still looped lazily around Yaz’s neck. She exhales slowly through her nose before leaning in to brush a kiss against her cheek. What she doesn’t expect is to find another set of lips ready to accept the movement, right up until suddenly, lips press against lips and they’re _kissing._

It’s everything she’d expected but also unprepared for and filled with nerves. In hindsight, _she should have predicted this would happen._

Yaz’s thoughts go into overdrive - she’d only meant to lean into the predicted brush of lips against her cheek, but she’d lost her balance. Now she’s kissing Jessie and Jessie is kissing back and she’s never been so thankful to have arms because, without their grip around Jessie’s waist, she’d be but a puddle on the floor.

Once both women have embraced the sudden turn, it doesn’t take long for a shy, gentle first kiss on Yaz’s doorstep to turn into something a little fiercer, a little more passionate. Yaz doesn’t register the wall meeting her back until her knees turn to jelly but she’s still standing. Jessie swipes her tongue along Yaz’s bottom lip with a soft little noise Yaz would _love_ to hear more of, a hot palm settling against the curve of her neck while tongues fight and hearts pound in quick succession.

Yaz is tempted to drag her back through to her flat when a certain rake of teeth against lip draws a melody from her which is not safe for such a public corridor.

It seems as though she thinks too soon.

Jessie is using the elegant curve of her jaw as a canvas for her red, purple and blue paintings when her next-door neighbour steps out of the lift at the other end of the landing. Through gasps which suggest the opposite, Yaz gently pries the blonde from sensitive skin but keeps her close. She’s laughing in seconds, waves of adrenaline and a police box of endorphins breaking free until they’re both giggling into their embrace like schoolchildren sharing a first kiss.

Her poor neighbour waves an awkward ‘hello’ just before skittishly disappearing into his flat, which only heightens their amusement.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early,” Jessie whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind Yaz’s ear before dotting one last kiss to her lips.

Half-way along the corridor, the blonde glances over her shoulder, smug as ever. Yaz is still stood in place, dazed and trembly but gleeful.

“You might want to wear a scarf, though,” and, like a shooting star or a meteor shower, as quick as she comes, she’s gone.


	4. lean on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for some hurt/comfort and chicken nuggets yall

Hallamshire Police Station is approximately ten minutes from the TARDIS flower shop, and the nearest coffee shop can be found directly in between. Thus, the following morning, while she’s collecting two takeaway cups of coffee, Yaz is particularly grateful she had bet on the hot beverage over anything else.

The sun is bright and the sky is clear on this spring morning, temperatures teetering on the verge of summer and burning their way through Yaz’s black trousers and vest. Summer is the only season she curses having to wear so much getup as part of her uniform, so she’s grateful for any shade she can find.

Lingering under the awnings of small businesses and high-street chains, Yaz makes her way towards the familiar, multicoloured storefront of the floristry quickly becoming her favourite. The sign on the door still reads ‘closed’, but she can spot a flash of blonde hair pottering behind the counter, preparing the shop for opening. She raps gently on the ramshackle door with her free hand.

Jessie springs to the door like an enthusiastic puppy taking its first leaping attempt at a run, opening it with a smile far too awake for this time in the morning. She radiates positivity and seems to nurture every second of life as though it’s an evergrowing wildflower, making the most of it without any fear of wilting. “Good morning, Yaz!”

“Delivery for Miss Smith,” Yaz chimes, earning an unabashed grin from the blonde as she curls her hand around the reusable cup. The natural fragrance is enough to wake Yaz up, but the curve of Jessie’s smile does the rest of the work.

“I could get used to this,” Jessie hums right back, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. She receives a warm blush in response. “Busy day ahead?”

Once the words in Yaz’s head correlate to the movements of her lips again, she can take a shot at responding. She sidles over to the counter, leaning against it while she sips at her coffee. “There’s a festival happening in the centre of town, so I’ll just be keeping the crowds down for today.”

“A festival? I might pay a visit,” Jessie hops onto the counter in one quick, practised movement, sending Yaz’s heart racing as the hot liquid sloshes in her cup.

“If you haven’t already scalded yourself, sure,” Yaz shifts, turning to step between Jessie’s swinging legs if only to save the cup of coffee from spilling over her new wardrobe item; a pair of cropped jeans with rainbow stripes along the seams.

“Perhaps you should come along just so I can make sure you don’t injure yourself,” Yaz chides, setting the cup down and offering up her best authoritative look. All she gets in return is flushed cheeks and blown pupils which she can’t quite decipher.

“My _saviour_ ,” Jessie quips right back, lifting Yaz’s cup to her lips to take a sip from hers instead. She smirks against the rim, emerald eyes swimming with humour.

Peeling the cup from her hand to set it next to its counterpart, Yaz leans in and presses a kiss to the smooth line of her jaw. She breathes her in, at once familiar with the sweet scent of lilies and something a little muskier, a little more _her._ “When does the shop open?”

Flushed, Jessie glances at the watch clinging to her wrist then back up to Yaz’s level, biting her lip. Her features turn a lovely shade of pink. “Ten minutes.”

“Long enough,” Yaz purrs, lips making a torturously long trail along her jaw to the corner of her mouth, then capturing her own in a slow, passionate kiss. She’s more confident this time around, settling a hand at her hip so she can mould against her, fitting together like pieces in a puzzle.

They’re enveloped in each other until they’re panting and hot, chests and hips touching in a surge of electricity which continues to burn beneath the surface even once they’ve draw apart.

Jessie drops her head to Yaz’s shoulder, catching her breath in small, shaky gasps. She eyes the small but prominent mark peaking out from beneath her collar which she’d eagerly gifted her the night before, holding back a smirk. “What was that for?”

“Just keeping you on your toes,” Yaz hums, drawing gentle circles against her hip through her navy shirt. Her legs feel like jelly, so she has to compose herself for a few moments before she straightens up her posture. “I should go,” though she’s reluctant to pull away, toying with the hem of her shirt.

“Two minutes until I open up,” Jessie whispers, glancing up through long lashes to follow the smooth slope of her top lip.

“ _Jessie._ I have work to get to - _please._ No need to be so forward,” Yaz teases, pulling back to re-do her hair and jacket. Their coffee has grown cold, proven by the scrunch to Jessie’s nose when she takes a sip. “You're adorable. See you later, maybe?”

“I’ll be there,” Jessie slips from the counter, pressed close enough to fix a few wisps of hair which had fallen loose from her bun. She then follows her to the door, fingers curling through the other woman’s in hesitation to let her go. “Please be safe.”

“I’ll try, I promise,” Yaz steps outside, the warmth doing nothing for the fire simmering with life in her gut. She gives her hand a squeeze before she lets go, an affectionate, slightly hazy smile blooming on her lips without thought. “Catch you later.”

 

* * *

 

Yaz gets away with an easy morning as people gather for the local beer and food festival. The crowds are small and fairly easy to control. She’s paired with Bill, as usual, so she’s busy dragging her away from street musicians and constant flows of free samples for the majority of the day.

The atmosphere is warm and friendly and the main streets are bustling with people, stalls lining the middle of usually quiet roads and filling the air with a whirlwind of colour and aromas, from sweet to spicy.

“Honestly, you’re no fun,” Bill chides playfully, nibbling at a sample of fresh spiced bread and taking in the environment with childlike amusement. Yaz has a more professional approach, smiling at passersby but keeping an eye out for any disturbances in the crowd, any signs of trouble.

With a lack of customers and a renewed eagerness to visit Yaz before the end of her shift, Jessie closes the florist up early. Her feet are moving before she’s even finished twisting the key in the lock, tucking it into her back pocket and wandering along the street in the direction of the town centre. She slips her jacket on while she walks; denim doused in various pins and patches, from rainbows to small stars and planets.

Jessie hadn’t quite considered how big the crowds would be, so spends her mission to find Yaz exploring each unique stall and kiosk, taking in what’s to offer. She stops by a sweet-smelling display of chocolates and confectionary, eyeing up a particularly sugary treat.

Florescent yellow stands out amidst the congregation of food-lovers, so Jessie can easily spot Yaz from afar. There’s a swirling rainbow lollipop poking out from her breast pocket, a breezy smile on her lips as she makes her way over.

There’s a scuffle at her side which makes her stumble and she suddenly loses sight of her friend, so she turns for a better view until a deep, unfamiliar voice resonates uncomfortably close to her ear. “You gonna have that?”

A heavy stench of beer lingers on his breath and Jessie hesitates before turning. She’s smiling despite the discomfort building in her stomach. “Pardon?”

“That yours?” He repeats, motioning towards the lollipop poking out from her pocket. Jessie gives a polite shake of her head, unwelcome goosebumps rising in her arms and the back of her neck.

“I can think of something else you could lick instead,” he murmurs, lips curling upwards in a snide, smug smirk. It’s as though anything is obtainable to him with a click of his fingers.

Jessie shivers uneasily when the unknown bloke licks his lips in what is meant to be… sexy? Flirtatious? She’s closer to heaving than bending to his misogynistic will.

“It’s for my girlfriend, actually,” Jessie quips as green eyes scan the crowds for familiar fluorescence. She finds nothing but six foot of arrogant intoxication when the man shifts in position, stepping closer, breathing harder, leering further.

“Even better,” he discloses in a tone so suggestive and objectifying that Jessie has to take a moment to ensure she’s not having a very realistic nightmare.

“Is there a problem here?” A comfortingly familiar voice interferes before the bloke can get any closer, and Jessie releases a breath she had no knowledge of holding.

“Everything’s fine, right, love?” He drawls, breathing hot, beer-laden breaths down Jessie’s neck.

Yaz, unlike the man bothering her, can sense Jessie’s discomfort from a mile off, so she takes a swift step between them to block any further interaction. “I think it would be in your best interest to leave now, mate.”

“But - wait, I haven’t done anything. We were just chatting, that’s all. Getting to know each other,” he gloats, all confident smiles and faux innocence.

She turns, taking in Jessie’s expression with unbidden frustration. The anxious twist to her features is enough of an answer.

Yaz clenches her jaw, forcing herself not to roll her eyes when she comes face-to-face with the tall, fair-headed man again. He’s unable to stand still for more than a second, so she can make a solid guess that he’s intoxicated. “It doesn’t seem like she’s interested, mate. I think you should go.”

“Oh, _fuck off_ , spoilsport,” he spits, reaching out to make a clumsy grab for Jessie’s arm. It’s enough to set Yaz back into police mode, so she swiftly captures the offending arm and twists it behind his back.

A few moments pass where Yaz can release a sigh of relief before, suddenly, there’s an arm barreling into her stomach, winding her enough for her to let go briefly. While he’s granted extra movement, this time he aims for her face. The harsh tang of iron assaults her tongue when she launches back into action, catching the bloke’s wrist on the next swing and pinning it to the space between his shoulder blades. It’s a practised movement, but not in many real-life scenarios, so she’s on the radio to backup for safety’s sake.

“Yaz!” Jessie gasps when the ordeal calms, though the bloke is still yelling drunken obscenities over his shoulder. She can’t do much else but wait for Yaz’s colleagues to appear for the next couple of minutes, and they prove to be the longest, most anxiety-ridden minutes of her life so far.

All at once, a dark-skinned woman with absolutely _amazing_ hair jogs through the small gathering of witnesses, clicking a set of cuffs into place within seconds. “Good work. I’ve got him. Go and get yourself checked out, alright? I’ll catch up with you once he’s been sorted out.”

Rather reluctantly, Yaz passes over the responsibility and steps back. Her frustration doesn’t last long when strong, recognisable fingers curl around her own and green eyes pry her thoughts back to reality. She’s relieved to see Jessie unharmed, rouge-stained lips curling into a warm smile. Adrenaline still pumps through her veins, so the extent of her injuries are unclear.

“Let’s go get you checked over, yeah?” Jessie murmurs, the caring tone to her voice doing nothing for the hazy state Yaz is already in. She follows her lead to a first aid tent set up a mere few paces away, hands curled tight and secure around their counterparts.

In hindsight, she’s lucky to simply come away with a split lip and a small number of pink-red bruises to her hip and stomach, but Yaz is more grateful for Jessie’s presence at her side than anything else. She won’t tell her that, yet, though. She’d probably give her one of those tender looks which turn her insides to putty and tug at inexperienced heartstrings enough to leave her gasping for air.

For now, she’ll simply give in to the soothing comfort she’s offered rather than brushing her off with ‘it’s just a couple of bruises, they’ll heal’.

Jessie listens intently while her… friend? - is cleaned up and told how to treat the bruising, simply taking in the sight of Yaz’s quiet form with restrained concern. Her hand remains safely within her grasp until they’re free to leave, whereupon the adrenaline has worn off and she’s looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute.

“Hey,” Jessie murmurs, catching the dark-haired woman’s attention once they’re back out into the fresh air. “My place is closer than yours, and I have painkillers and ice and - and films if you fancy? They said someone should keep an eye on you for the next couple of hours, and - and painkillers are helpful, and stuff,"

“And stuff?” Yaz teases, tongue swiping over her split lip curiously, testing the waters. The faint taste of iron lingers on her tastebuds. “I suppose it makes the most sense. So long as I’m not intruding on anything? Or taking up too much of your time?”

There’s a hint of insecurity to her tone which Jessie has become accustomed to, so she simply squeezes her hand in reassurance. “Of course not! I’d love to have you ‘round. Under better circumstances, sure, but I _do_ want to make sure you’re alright.”

Navigating through the bustling crowds takes up a little time, but Yaz is grateful for the pace due to the muscles burning in her side. They’re almost free from the masses when Yaz’s ears pick up on the sound of her name, turning her head just in time to catch sight of her work partner clumsily slipping past groups of festival-goers.

“Yaz! Wait up!” She shouts over a clique of rowdy students dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts, all but skidding to a halt once she’s reached them. Jessie can somehow understand how she’s able to deal with her own hectic nature now

“I’m fine, I promise,” Yaz discloses instantly, though the way the fingers of her free hand fist in their sleeves and the hunch to her posture gives away her discomfort.

“Mm-hm, you don’t look it. It’s a good thing you’ve got the evening off,” she chides playfully, then smiles her signature wide smile at Jessie as though she knows something that Jessie doesn’t. “You must be Jessica! It’s nice to finally put a name to a face.”

Jessie doesn’t miss the teasing smirk she sends to Yaz, letting a humoured laugh fall from her lips. “That’s me, yeah. Nice to meet you-?”

“Bill Potts, Yaz’s favourite work partner,” she chuckles, fiddling with a set of keys attached to her waistband. “Can I offer you guys a lift? Walking probably isn’t the best idea when you’ve just had an incident like that.”

“If it’s not too much trouble?” Yaz acquests, preparing herself for the onslaught of smug questioning from her best friend once she’s back at work tomorrow.

“Not at all. C’mon, slowcoach,” Bill quips, matter-of-factly, leading the way to the collection of police vehicles just outside the crowds.

Jessie curls an arm around Yaz’s waist when she begins silently wincing with each step, keeping her stable against her side. Bill has the door open for her by the time they reach the car, earning a grateful smile from both women.

Once she’s sat comfortably, Bill starts up the car and pulls out onto the road, glancing in her rear-view mirror with mirth dancing in her eyes. Yaz knows what’s coming next, so she silently flips her friend off.

“I know it’s one of your fantasies to make out in the back of a police car, Yaz, but you’re going to have to control yourself. As long as I’m in this car, it’s a smooch-free zone,” Bill admonishes, and Yaz rolls her eyes hard enough to earn herself a headache.

Jessie, on the other hand, can’t help but laugh, patting Yaz’s thigh with a self-satisfied little twitch to her lips. “Don’t be upset, Yaz, there’s always another time.” She turns to Bill, then, popping her brows. “Could we have the lights and siren on, then, at least?”

“Unfortunately not. She’s a keeper though, mate,” Bill beams, leaving Jessie reassured that they’re going to be fast friends.

“You know, if I knew you two would end up bullying me the minute you’re introduced to each other, I would have never let you meet,” Yaz huffs, but it’s half-hearted and more fond than abrasive. Inside, the anxiety twisting her gut eases, and she’s happy Bill has judged her worthy of her affections so quickly. She’s known her since the tender age of four, long enough to mean her approval is crucial.

“Hey! She started it,” Jessie accuses in a tone far too childish for someone in her late twenties. Yaz simply shakes her head, though there’s a smile tugging at bloodstained lips.

“Am I dropping you guys off at your place, Yaz?” Bill queries when they reach a red light, admiring a flag in a coffee shop window nearby which encapulates the colours of a rainbow.  

“Jessie’s, actually. You know where the TARDIS flower shop is, right?” Yaz replies.

“The one you always make sure to drive past during our patrols? Sure.” Bill retorts, and, really, Yaz should have seen that coming. She can see the way Bill’s shoulder’s quiver while she withholds a snigger, and she can sense the question on Jessie’s lips before she’s even said anything.

“She’s a compulsive liar. Don’t believe a thing she says,” Yaz hastily whispers to the blonde at her side, but earns a knowing smirk in response which reads ‘I’m totally bringing this up again later’.

The rest of the car ride is riddled with smug looks from Bill and an agonising amount of jokes made in jest towards Yaz. She’s eternally grateful to see the familiar sign atop a window of bright flowers when they pull up, all but scrabbling to free herself and save further embarrassment.

“See you at work tomorrow, Yaz. Bye, Jessie! It was great to finally meet you!” Bill says, shifting the car into gear and pulling away from the kerb. “Enjoy your evening, lovebirds. Please bring her back in one piece tomorrow.”

With a sly wave and a wide grin, Bill leaves them to head inside and into the comforting aroma of blue lisianthus and hyacinths - both of which Jessie points out as they’re making their way through the shop and into the back. There’s a slim staircase up to a blue painted door in the corner of what looks like a small office, though the lack of contents suggests Jessie does most of her work elsewhere. In the garden amidst the plants, Yaz presumes.

“Sorry in advance for the mess,” Jessie apologises, scrunching her nose as she hops up two steps at a time. She turns at the top, offering a hand to assist Yaz where necessary.

By ‘mess’, Yaz assumes she means the books scattered across every surface she can find; books on plants, insects, nature, birds and… astronomy? She’ll have to quiz her about that when she isn’t so desperate to curl into a ball and clutch her stomach.

“Couch. Sit,” Jessie commands softly. The deep blue of her couch draws Yaz closer on instinct, like patient, caring hands to an injured animal. Jessie can only watch on in fond affection, shrugging her jacket off and heading off to find some painkillers.

“Yes, ma'am,” she hums, sinking into the plush, clearly beloved cushions. “Mm - s’comfy.”

“I’ve been told it’s the comfiest couch on the planet - not to brag. How are you feeling?” Jessie quips. She’s at her side, now, a glass of water in one hand and two small capsules in the other. She’d found them so fast she has Yaz imagining her with pockets bigger on the inside, fishing around between tennis rackets and cupcakes - this only makes her wonder whether she’d hit her head during the incident.

“Just sore. Thank you for taking care of me. You really don’t need to,” Yaz murmurs, swallowing the tablets down with a swig of water and peeling away her thick jacket. With a helping hand from Jessie, the garment is hung up alongside her own. She undoes the top button of her shirt, next, relaxing into the cushions with a soft sigh.

“You want me to help you with that? It can’t be very convenient,” Jessie motions to her weighty vest, intentions innocent. While she’s injured, at least.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Yaz twists in place, rewarding herself with a sharp gasp as a surge of pain strikes like electricity against her side. She’s unable to speak for a moment while the pain fizzles to a faint throb. “Okay, maybe I could do with some help.”

Features torn between genuine concern and a look which shouts ‘I told you so’, Jessie carefully and tentatively slides the jacket from her slim shoulders. She hooks it over the back of the couch and secures an armful of cushions behind her for extra amenity.

“Oh! Ice! I’m sure I have some. Stay right there,” Jessie says more to herself than Yaz, disappearing into what she presumes is the kitchen and giving Yaz time to take in her environment.

There’s a sketchbook precariously balanced on the edge of her circular-patterned coffee table, its lining a deep blue to match the door to her apartment. A hint of green and brown peeks out from behind the cover, the crumbly texture of an autumn leaf captured perfectly on the page - from what she can tell, at least.

Jessie is full of surprises, but Yaz is coming to learn that, unlike the dog-eared page thirty-six left haphazardly on the couch at her side, she is no open book.

“You reckon ice cream will do?” Jessie questions from the doorway, daisies dotting the white material of her socks as her toes curl in plush carpet. “Or perhaps a bag of chicken nuggets? They’re both pretty cold.”

“Nuggets will do,” Yaz chuckles at the seriousness lacing Jessie’s features while she holds a tub of ice cream in one hand and a jumbo pack of chicken nuggets in the other.

Upon returning, the bag of frozen produce is wrapped up in a tea towel and pressed gently to her stomach with a hiss, where angry red skin has already turned a dark shade of green-y purple. Jessie descends into the spot at her side, a tub of chocolate ice cream and two spoons settled between them without question.

“What’s with all the astronomy books?” Yaz inquires casually through a mouthful of the frozen treat, the heartbeat in her side recoiling to simmer beneath the surface as the medication kicks in.

“Oh! I’m an astronomy student at the University of Sheffield. It’s just a part-time course, but it keeps me busy,” the blonde divulges with a shrug, as though juggling a whole business and a degree is nothing to be impressed by.

“No way, that’s - that’s pretty admirable, Jessie. What made you pick astronomy?” Yaz replies while spoons battle out for a chunk of chocolate brownie between them. Jessie wins, but only by licking the remains of her spoonful from her lips in such a way that Yaz forgets what limbs are, let alone how to move them.

“I just really love stars. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little, actually, but I’m scared of heights, so I thought ‘Earth will do, I guess’,” Jessie grins, eyes alight with childlike delight. They’re a little bluer in this light, but it could just be the medication making her hazy, Yaz observes.

Within ten minutes there are goosebumps dotting her flesh, the mix of frozen food pressed against her skin and ice cream in her system making her shiver.

“Cold?” The blonde queries, lifting a thin blanket from where it’s tucked conveniently beneath the coffee table.

“A little, yeah,” Yaz answers honestly in response to the disquieted look lingering on her features. “I’m sure if you budge up a little I’ll warm up quicker, though.”

She’s still her usual self, Jessie decides, enough to encourage her to sink a little further into her side - the uninjured one, thankfully. She settles the blanket over both of their legs, tucking it up to Yaz’s waist while she places the ice cream and cutlery aside. “You fancy watching some television? There’s this really cool documentary about aliens and stars and new planets they’ve discovered recently on in a minute, if you’re interested? Or - uh, I have Netflix, too? Or we could listen to some music? I’m easy - no, that came out wrong. I’m up for anything - yes, that’s what I mean. Yaz?” Jessie pauses, catching the way heavy lids blink slowly over deep brown irises and leave Yaz looking adorably dopey. The painkillers have kicked in, that’s for sure.

“Hm? Did you say something about aliens? That could be cool. I’m up for that,” Yaz hums, head coming to rest oh so casually against Jessie’s shoulder once she’s picked up the remote controller. The television flickers to life and encourages her to keep her eyes open through the opening credits of the programme. Yaz can count on her fingers the number of minutes it takes for Jessie to start chattering away about space and stars and the possibility of life on Mars - if she had been her sister, or basically anyone else, Yaz would have told them to quieten down, but she can’t find it in herself to shut down someone so passionate about a topic.

In addition, she’s _genuinely intrigued_ , for Jessie speaks of space as though she’s from there herself, as though she was there for the creation of the earth and for every major astronomical event which has occurred since.

If she wasn’t so dosed up on painkillers and achingly exhausted from her day in general, perhaps she wouldn’t be so easily manipulated by heavy eyelids and soothing voices, but she can’t seem to shake herself out of her drowsy state.

Yaz captures the faint echo of ‘I _love_ a conspiracy’ before the calming sound of Jessie’s voice dissipates into the far distance and she suddenly feels weightless, just warm and cosy enough and unbelievably safe in the other woman’s presence.

Enough so, the next time she wakes, if briefly, is to the security of strong arms curled around her waist, a cloud-like mattress to her back and a pillow beneath her head.


	5. toothpaste kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> consider this the last chapter if ur not up for the utter smutfest which will be chapter six :))))))))
> 
> oh and thank u to my consistent beta @clickofthecollar ur the bestest

Everything happens in slow motion, the time between the changing of traffic lights from green to red stretched taut to accommodate the worst of occurrences.

She’s running, racing through seemingly endless crowds in an effort to find the source of pained gasps and cries. It’s only once she’s battled through the masses that she falls - literally _falls_ across her most horrific of nightmares.

There’s an invisible barrier between her and the blonde now laying battered and bruised at the foot of three faceless individuals, who continue to throw assaults despite the wails and desperate yelps of the woman Yaz has a duty to protect.

“Please, stop it! Let me through! You’re going to kill her!” Yaz shouts, but the words are denied their journey to the tip of her tongue, leaving silent screams to fall on ignorant ears.

The violence continues, merciless and graphic and everything Yaz would never wish on any human being. She has no option but to watch as life slips away into the deep red liquid now pooling around Jessie’s form, the gut-wrenching scream which follows making her shake and shiver and heave.

“Yaz? Yaz!” a familiar voice calls, but it can’t be. The blonde now pale and lifeless on the cold cobblestone in front of her doesn’t move her lips; doesn’t make a sound. So how can she -?

“Yaz! Wake up!” Jessie shouts, until suddenly there’s a burning pressure on her arms and a drum beating away in her head.

The scene fades to black, then springs into colour once more.

Pools of deep green bore into her own and Yaz can finally utilise her vocal cords again, a half-whimper, half-cry melting into space between their bodies. “You’re here.”

The smell of peppermint toothpaste and a faint throb in her side assaults her senses in an instant as the world around her comes back into focus. Jessie is sat up beside her, features a picture of concern while Yaz takes gasps of air into heaving lungs. “I’m here, I’m right here. Please, Yaz. Is it okay if I-?” Jessie murmurs gently, arms opening in the warm invitation Yaz craves.

“You’re here,” Yaz repeats, falling into the arms of the blonde to breathe in her comforting scent and ensure she’s real; she’s there; she’s alive. “You’re okay,"

“Of course I’m okay, silly,” Jessie chides playfully, smoothing a cool palm along Yaz’s back and feeling the heat it radiates. She’s clammy and continues to tremble slightly against her, so she steals herself from any significantly probing questions for now. “That must’ve been quite the nightmare, babe. But you’re here now, with me, and you’re safe. Everything’s okay.”

She holds her for a few long minutes, gently carding her fingers through dishevelled hair and brushing her fingernails lightly against her scalp - she learns fast that this is en route to calming the pulse previously thrumming in her neck.

When it seems as though she’s calmed, Yaz pulls back just enough to lay her head on her chest, both women now sprawled over sweat-dampened sheets. Jessie hums quietly, the tone both soothing and sleep-inducing, leaving Yaz hazy and complacent.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jessie finally whispers, too worried anything louder might frighten her.

“You called me babe,” Yaz derails her train of thought, brows pinching in an inquisitive notion while she works to dance around the question. Whether that’s for her own benefit or Jessie’s, the blonde has no idea.

“ _Yaz_ ,” Jessie counters softly, raising a brow. “Please, talk to me. You don’t have to give me all the grizzly deta-”

“I couldn’t protect you,” Yaz interrupts, her voice taking on the same tone as a child apologising for breaking their parents’ most prized possession, as though the whole world weighs on their actions. There’s a dull throb in Jessie’s chest as her heartstrings are wound and torn from the safety of their compounds.

“What do you mean, honey?” Jessie prompts, though, going by the prior day’s events, she can take a guess at the narrative which has plagued her dreams. “Did you dream about what happened yesterday?” she asks carefully, earning a slow, almost guilt-ridden nod from the woman curled around her.

“Oh, Yaz,” she sighs, gently reaching out to tip her chin up and catch her gaze, thumb brushing the strong curve of her jaw. “You remember what actually happened, right?”

Another nod follows, Yaz’s features softening and breaths coming slow and steady.

“You protected me, Yaz, even after they hurt you,” Jessie murmurs, pressing a tentative kiss to her forehead.

She’s reminded of the discoloured skin of her stomach, and only then does she remember she’d fallen asleep on the couch, in her uniform. Jessie had to help her change into a pair of pyjamas in her drowsy state, her cheeks flaring when she glances down at her attire and breathes in the scent of Jessie’s laundry detergent, a sense of calm enveloping her instantly.

“I’d do it again, thirteen times over,” Yaz murmurs, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. She catches her gaze again, registering the surprised but loving look in her eyes. “I can’t risk losing you yet, I’ve only just found you.”

Jessie almost has to look away when she sees the genuine honesty lacing her features, the space between them seeming unnecessary and entirely unwelcome. She shifts closer, brushing another kiss against her hairline. “You’re not going to lose me. You just have to promise you’ll try and stay in one piece from now on? You gave me a fright yesterday.”

“Can’t make any promises - it’s my _job_ , but I’ll try, I really will. For you,”  Yaz leans up, lips pressing against the corner of Jessie’s to help ground her; to draw her back out of the spiral her nightmare had her falling through.

Jessie responds on instinct, bumping her nose against Yaz’s as she shifts just a touch closer, lips moving over lips in an intricate dance they’re still learning.

“Thank you,” Jessie murmurs against her lips, reaching up to curl her fingers oh so gently through dark locks. The other hand settles against her side, bunching the material of her shirt in her palm to hold her close. When she pulls back, Yaz follows, refusing to break a kiss which offers such reassurance and safety.

Jessie is all too happy to comply, carefully manoeuvring so she can settle a toned thigh between Yaz’s and hover over her. She’s scared one wrong move could cause her agony, so she props herself up on her forearms to continue their kiss.

They’re equally flushed and out of breath by the time the kiss breaks, and Yaz finds herself drifting away into the deep, dark storm brimming behind Jessie’s eyes.

“I really love kissing you,” Jessie admits bashfully, nudging her nose along the curve of Yaz’s jaw and treating sensitive skin to open-mouthed kisses.

Nervousness twists and unravels like a ball of yarn in the pit of Yaz’s stomach. When teeth graze against her flesh, however, the sensations shift, giving way to desire.

“Jessie…” Yaz murmurs, sliding a hand down her side, fingers curled against her hip where her top has ridden up. The first touch of fingertips against smooth skin leaves both of them yearning for more, a soft sigh melting against Yaz’s lips when Jessie leans into her touch.

“Can I?” Yaz murmurs, fingertips dancing around the hem of her shirt and beginning to drag upwards.

Through a cloud of need, Jessie regretfully pauses her movements. “As much as I’d absolutely _love_ to continue, wouldn’t it be better to wait until you’re healed? The last thing I want to do is to hurt you,” she whispers, voice hoarse with desire and eyes ablaze. She admires the subtle markings she’s left in place along the slender curve of her neck, which, in hindsight, does nothing to quell the heated gaze she sends Yaz’s way.

“But,” Yaz starts, fingertips slipping further beneath the material and drifting to her side, enough to brush over the beginnings of soft swells. “I want you. I’ve wanted you this whole time.”

Jessie can’t help the gentle gasp which falls past parted lips, trying her hardest not to lean into her touch. Her body screams for more, but her mind is hesitant, especially when she spots the outline of purple and blue from where Yaz’s own shirt has risen in the night. “This is the hardest decision ever.”

A flustered, breathy laugh falls past Yaz’s lips at the expression of sheer indecision on Jessie’s face, so she settles for drawing her hand back, instead tracing gentle circles against the small of her back. There’s a thin black line peeking out from beneath the hem of Jessie’s striped pyjama shorts, a contrast against the rest of the creamy, unblemished skin of her hip, leaving Yaz in amidst a guessing game over its design.

Lashes fluttering closed, both women settle into a comfortable quiet, disturbed only by the soft ruffling of sheets and the occasional contented sigh. Yaz is on the verge of slumber once more when a series of sharp rings alert her to the mobile phone on the bedside table.

She reaches out, grasping the device with a whispered ‘sorry’ to the blonde’s sleepy grumble beside her. “Hello?”

“Yaz!” Bill shouts gleefully down the line, leaving Yaz to wince and huff in amused exasperation. “Glad to know you’ve survived the night! Graham told me to let you know you’re off for the day for some rest and recuperation.”

“Who is it?” Jessie mumbles, voice hoarse with slumber. She shuffles up, settling her head on Yaz’s shoulder and curling her lips into a hazy smile. She can’t seem to keep her eyes open for a few seconds at a time, so Yaz reaches up to comb her fingers through her hair, nails scratching lightly at her scalp. “Just Bill.”

Bill picks up on the voice at the other end of the phone call, trying and failing to hold back a snigger. “ _Just_ Bill? Aw, man. I thought we had something special, Yaz.” When the woman in question simply hums slyly, Bill adds, “Say hi to Jessie for me, will you?”

Yaz’s cheeks warm and she glances down at the blonde all but curled around her, who is smiling knowingly despite appearing asleep. Her nose twitches to ease an itch, and Yaz almost swoons. “If she was here, I’m sure she’d say hi back, but I’m _absolutely_ not still at her place,”

“Oh, of _course_ . Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. You better have some developments to share. Bye, Jessie!” Bill calls, and Yaz can _hear_ the smirk in her voice.

Jessie rouses at the sound of her name blaring through the phone, glancing up with a toothy grin. “Bye, Bill!”

“I knew it! Oh, you are _so_ busted, Ya-” her words are cut off in an instant when Yaz abruptly hangs up, laughter ringing in her ears from the blonde at her side.

“She’s going to be unbearable tomorrow,” Yaz checks the time on her mobile - it’s still early morning, their work schedules each making them instinctively wake up prematurely in the day. “What time do you have to open up the shop?”

Jessie glances up momentarily, catching sight of the bedside clock before finally sitting herself up. Her hair is heading in every direction, the imprint of a pillow still ever present on her left cheek. Yaz has to admit she wouldn’t mind more mornings like this. “Two more hours. I should probably start getting ready.”

“Me too,” Yaz breathes, not wanting to overstay her welcome. Jessie watches on as she slips from the sheets, admiring the way her clothes look on the other woman. A hint of… possessiveness? - flashes across her pupils, doing nothing for the heat already fizzling beneath the surface. She decides, then and there, that she thoroughly enjoys the look of her own clothes hugging Yaz’s frame.

“When can I see you again?” Yaz queries, standing to stretch like a languid feline. She raises her arms above her head, the star-dusted top clinging loosely to her form rising to display a toned, albeit bruise-littered stomach. Jessie swallows thickly, averting her gaze. Something in Yaz brims with pride at the reaction she elicits.

“Whenever you like. I’m easy,” Jessie murmurs, her tone betraying the sense of longing blossoming beneath her ribcage. She blinks, then, repeating the words in her head and having the audacity to _blush._ “Wait - that came out wrong. I’m not - I didn’t mean _easy._ I meant I’m free. Available. I’m -”

Yaz crosses the room, clambering back onto the bed to let a flurry of laughter melt against parted, wordless lips. “I know what you mean. You’re adorable when you’re flustered,”

Jessie’s cheeks are ablaze with colour when Yaz pulls back, green eyes contrasting against molten lava. She scrunches her nose and huffs, then immediately softens. She reaches out to toy with the material of her top. Her voice is quiet, “Stay?”

Yaz tilts her head, fearing she’s misheard. “Hm?”

“Stay,” Jessie repeats, hope rooted in the affectionate haze her eyes embrace. “For the day? Only if you want to, of course. You could help with the shop, or- or just water some plants or - uh,” she leaves the sentence to trail off, ducking her head shyly. “So I can keep an eye on you? Y’know, after yesterday - I don’t really want to have you out of my sight.”

Yaz is temporarily lost for words, mulling over the idea for a moment before she realises her decision has already been made. “I think I’d like that.”

The whole of Sheffield gains an extra ray of sunshine when Jessie beams in response, all but leaping from her place on the bed and straight into action.

Yaz has to double-check the bedside table to confirm if she’s had a secret cup of coffee already this morning but she comes up empty-handed.

Speaking of which, “How about a coffee? Oh! And you can borrow some clothes, if you like,” Jessie offers with renewed enthusiasm, rocking on odd-socked feet.

Only now she’s standing can Yaz take in her mismatched pyjamas; a pair of blue and white striped shorts and a yellow t-shirt with a family of otters atop each other alongside the line ‘otter chaos’. If an outfit could reflect one’s personality, this one, in particular, fits Jessie perfectly.

“Coffee sounds perfect, actually. Would you mind if I used your shower?” Yaz asks politely, trying and failing to comb her hands through unruly locks. “It usually helps to wake me up a little.”

“Of course not! There are fresh towels in the cabinet beside the sink and enough shampoo and shower gel for a small village. It’s handmade from the flowers I don’t manage to sell in time,” Jessie admits bashfully, and somehow, Yaz isn’t surprised.

“Oh, man. I’m dating a creative genius,” Yaz croons, padding over to the door of the adjoining ensuite and eyeing the hand-crafted goods with an impressed twitch to her lips. She slips the door closed before Jessie can comment on the confirmation of their relationship, but the uncontained squeal which filters in through from her room signifies they’re on the same page.

By the time she’s finished up showering, Yaz matches the scents and essences blooming from the florist beneath her, a fluffy baby blue towel twisted into place around her form. She pokes her head out from behind the door to find the bedroom empty, the smell of coffee seeping in from the kitchen and working to warm her insides. She scans the clothes rack beside the bed, a rainbow-striped sweatshirt catching her eye. She pairs it with a pair of plain black leggings to ease the pressure on her bruising, then twists her hair into a bun atop her head.

Jessie is perched atop the counter making coffee when Yaz wonders in, taking the opportunity she’d missed last night to take in the details of her apartment. There are flowers and cacti taking up the length of every windowsill in sight, and a bonsai tree settled in the middle of the breakfast bar. They all look to be at peak health, and the variety of aromas remind her of walks through the park midway through summer, everything in bloom. Their fresh scent clings to every surface, every room, like perfume. Yaz can suddenly understand Jessie’s fascination.

“Sugar?” Jessie quips, breaking Yaz from her daydream. Her bare feet are swinging beneath her and she’s regarding her curiously, following her movements with quiet affection.

“Just one, please,” Yaz hums, padding over to the counter. She uses the excuse of smelling a particularly sweet-scented vase of lilies located behind the blonde to step between her legs, hands settling on her bare thighs while she breathes in the sweet fragrance. She honestly can’t tell if it’s the flowers or simply Jessie emitting it.

She earns a swift intake of breath for her efforts, a smirk pulling at Yaz’s lips when Jessie misjudges a spoonful of sugar and leaves white crystals to sprinkle over the countertop.

Jessie sets the spoon down and meets Yaz’s gaze in faux-irritation, brows narrowing in a glare. “That was your doing.”

Yaz reaches out, dipping a fingertip into the pile of sugar, raising it to the corner of Jessie’s lips and leaning in to teasingly lap the sweet substance from its purchase. “I have no idea what you mean.”

A hint of a moan rises up from her throat and melts into a low hum against the curve of her lips, lashes fluttering. Her thighs press together on instinct, forgetting the yaz-shaped form between them and effectively trapping her in place. “For a cop, you’re surprisingly incorrigible.”

“And for a florist, you’re pretty chaotic,” Yaz murmurs, toying with the seam of her shorts as Jessie remembers their half-made coffee, turning to pour the water in and begin stirring.

Yaz doesn’t miss the six spoonfuls of sugar she drops unceremoniously into her coffee, stepping back from between the blonde’s legs to stir her own mug.

Impatient, Jessie hisses around a scolding sip. She doesn’t have to look up to know Yaz is rolling her eyes.

“How about I head downstairs and get started on watering some of the plants while you get changed? And please try not to burn your tongue off - it has its uses, you know,” Yaz suggests, ladybird-speckled mug cradled in her palms and innocence lacing her features.

Jessie has to work hard not to choke on her sip of coffee, cheeks pink and feet scurrying towards her room in an instant. “Good idea! Be with you in five!”

 

* * *

 

Customers arrive in ebbs and flows throughout the day and by lunchtime, Yaz is leant over the counter, half a sandwich left beside her while she curiously thumbs through one of Jessie’s many astronomy books littered around the place.

She’s skimming through a particularly interesting page on supernovae when usually flailing arms curl around her waist from behind, Jessie’s chin coming to rest comfortably on her shoulder. She reaches a hand forward to pluck the sandwich from her plate, stealing a bite and leaving crumbs to tumble carelessly onto Yaz’s borrowed jumper. “What’cha reading? Oh! Supernovae! My favourite. Did you know that a single supernova can outshine an entire galaxy of stars?”

Yaz hums her surprise, flicking forward to skim-read a section on constellations and astronomy. “A bit like you, then, I suppose.”

She hadn’t actually meant to voice her thoughts at that particular point, but when she turns to find Jessie, mouth-agape and pupils swimming with nothing but loving affection, she’s pretty proud of herself.

What she doesn’t expect is the tender yet possessive kiss which follows, heads tilting and noses brushing in a teasing dance before lips lock and trusting hearts fill.

The chime of a bell announces the presence of a customer seconds before their kiss breaks, the resulting snickering bringing both women back to the present and redirecting their attention.

Bill stands just shy of the door, expression rinsed with teasing amusement and hint of pride. “I was only popping around to make sure Yaz was okay, but she seems to be in perfectly good hands,” she drawls cheekily, motioning to the way Jessie’s hand lingers at the small of Yaz’s back, close enough to her backside to be deemed an intentional move.

“ _Busted,_ ” Jessie concedes, nose scrunching to match her guilty grin. Her hand squeezes, Bill’s laughter drowning out Yaz’s surprised squeak.


	6. the end is unknown (but i think i'm ready)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not feeling toooo great about this chapter but,,,, enjoy 3k of smut and thanks for following along with this fic!!! all those who have commented and left kudos have every one of my uwus !! thank u again to my beta @clickofthecollar!!

“We had a call-in today about a guy burgling money and valuables from offices in an industrial estate,” Yaz divulges between sips of fresh orange juice, leant against the counter of the TARDIS floristry and observing as Jessie finishes up for the day. “We get there and he runs right past the car and down an alleyway between two offices. We reach a dead end and he’s nowhere in sight.”

She has Jessie’s attention now, the blonde pausing in her mission to clear any loose petals and leaves from the floor. “Where did he go?”

“Bill climbs over the fence to check he hasn’t escaped through the park behind the estate, but there’s a rustle behind us,” Yaz continues, the beginnings of a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes are alight with humour at the impatient but excited look on Jessie’s face. “He’d spray painted a kid’s play tunnel silver and disguised himself as an air vent for the building.”

Jessie’s laughter is loud and hearty. She pictures the scene; Yaz, turning to the disguised suspect and unravelling his hiding place. “I’m sorry, but that’s _genius._ Maybe I’m dating someone on the wrong side of the law.”

“Hey! If you’re lucky, I could prove you wrong later,” Yaz argues, a suggestive lilt to her tone which has Jessie’s stomach lurching with anticipation. 

She finishes up sweeping and ensures the door is locked before meeting Yaz’s gaze, hands on her hips. “All done. Shall we head up?”

“Sure. After you,” Yaz quips, following the blonde through the back. Jessie is wearing a pair of cropped plaid trousers today which hug her hips in the best possible way, leaving Yaz itching to touch and explore.

As though she has the ability to read her mind, Jessie’s hips sway a touch more than normal as they ascend the stairs to her flat. 

Once she’s nudged the blue door open and slipped inside, Jessie kicks her shoes off and heads straight for the couch. “So, the Goonies or the next episode of Stranger Things? We’re on series two now, right?”

Yaz pads over, sinking into the space beside her with a satisfied hum. Jessie immediately cosies up to her side, encouraging the other woman to lift an arm and settle it over her shoulders. “Stranger Things sounds great,” she murmurs, toying with the sleeve of her t-shirt. “So long as you don’t hum the theme tune all the way through again.” 

“That was _one_ time, Yaz,” Jessie huffs, holding herself back when the titles begin to roll. Instead, she simply bobs her head along to the beat.

Ten minutes into the episode, Yaz finds herself distracted by Jessie’s scent, not to mention the pressure of soft, cool lips against her collarbone from where she’s resting her head on her shoulder. She idly toys with the ends of Jessie’s hair, fingertips brushing the slender curve of her neck in the process. She earns a delicate kiss for her affections. 

Fifteen minutes in, and Jessie’s kisses have spread, the teasing scrape of teeth against her pulse point making her shiver. A stuttered breath falls from her lips and melts into the quiet between them. 

“Jessie…” Yaz warns, cheeks warm and rosy. She drops a hand to Jessie’s thigh and squeezes the next time teeth grace her skin. 

Jessie had refused to move past kissing and teasing until her injuries had subsided, leaving them both ticking time bombs for self-combustion at so much as a touch. With the hint of a smirk, Yaz thinks about the now non-existent bruises against her side, but that doesn’t stop her trembling with every brush of Jessie’s lips against her flesh. 

“Something the matter, babe?” Jessie croons, catching her earlobe between her teeth and giving an experimentative tug. Yaz can’t hold back the faint hum which rises from her throat, teetering on a moan. 

“Please just kiss me,” Yaz finally manages, swallowing a sigh when Jessie makes a trail from the curve of her jaw to the soft dip at the corner of her lips. 

Eventually, though, she takes mercy, noses bumping when Jessie captures her lips in a kiss which promises much more. She cups her cheek, thumb caressing the slow slope of her jaw while her lips work wonders for Yaz’s fear of internally combusting through hunger and lust. 

The kiss develops steadily, bodies twisting and turning to better face each other. Yaz sweeps a hand into her hair, the other hand fisting into her t-shirt to draw her impossibly closer. 

When Jessie makes a torturously slow display of swiping her tongue over her bottom lip, Yaz takes it upon herself to guide her back against the sofa with a playful shove, hovering over her form like a predator assessing its kill. She slips a thigh between Jessie’s legs, muscles tensing against her to draw a surprised gasp from her lips. 

Yaz maps out the constellations she’s learnt with her tongue, swirling and lapping with renewed vigour. 

They’re both equally breathless when the kiss breaks, heat surging like electricity between them. Yaz takes in the blonde’s features with a delighted hum, observing the flush to her cheeks and neck and the stormy hues blinking up into her own. “You’re beautiful like this.”

Leaning in, Yaz re-routes millimetres from her lips to scorch a path of red and purple along the length of her neck, leaving Jessie to grasp for the material of the sofa either side of her. 

“Christ, Yaz,” she pants, arching her neck to display more skin worth claiming. There’s a spot just below her ear where Yaz nips and sucks and pays her most undivided attention to which makes her dizzy, hips giving in to a lazy roll against her thigh. 

Yaz delights in the faint moans and purrs she earns from the woman beneath her, lips trailing down to the sharp angle of her collarbone before catching her lips again. She cherishes the taste of the sugary pastries she’d arrived with earlier, the sweetness of their remnants mixing in with Jessie’s naturally honeyed relish to create the most addictive of potions. 

Curious hands begin to explore, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her t-shirt and spreading like wildfire over the expanse of Jessie’s lightly toned stomach. “May I? Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Jessie murmurs between kisses, catching Yaz’s bottom lip between her teeth if only to tug teasingly. “Yes.”

She has Jessie lift her arms so she can peel the material over her frame and drop it carelessly to the floor, instantly ducking to mouth at her chest through the thin bralette she exposes. 

Jessie curls a fist into her hair from under her affections, back arching to encourage her further. “Please - please,” she pauses to let a wave of pleasure roll down her spine when Yaz nips at the flesh surrounding her hardened nub, “justtakeitoff”. 

Yaz pulls back to meet her gaze, pupils almost fully dilated and heat ablaze between her thighs when she takes in the need Jessie so readily presents. This is the furthest they’ve been, and suddenly her nerves kick in. There’s a moment of thought-filled silence until Jessie seems to sense her indecision. 

“Are you sure?” Yaz whispers, Jessie’s answering nod quelling her nerves. 

“As sure as I could possibly be, if you are,” Jessie purrs in return, and suddenly they’re not talking about the thin garment shielding Jessie’s chest from view, more so about taking a leap of faith into the next stage of their relationship; an intimate dissection of trust, affection and desire. 

“I’ve never wanted this more,” Yaz confirms, brushing her fingertips tenderly over the heart-shaped bruises she’d left behind on her skin. 

“Well then, let’s get a shift on,” Jessie beams, leaning up to divulge in an open-mouthed, searing kiss which leaves Yaz desperate for more; more skin, more movement, more _Jessie._

Her bra is all but ripped from her chest with Yaz’s eagerness to explore, hot mouth coming to rest against the darker, more sensitive skin of her breast, where deep pink buds have blossomed and bloomed. Jessie clutches at her hair as though grounding herself to an anchor, head tipping back on a moan when Yaz flicks her tongue over an increasingly sensitive nipple. 

There’s a significant difference in the ratio of clothing between the two women, so while Yaz focusses her affection on Jessie’s chest, and expertly so, the blonde reaches her free hand out to tug at her crisp white shirt, communicating her intentions. 

Regrettably, Yaz has to pull away from her chest to unbutton and shrug off her shirt, slipping her bra off to level the playing field. 

Even more regrettably, Jessie doesn’t have time to let her gaze wonder before the dark-haired woman leans in again, gracing her other breast with the same attention. She swirls her tongue and sucks hard at her nipple, once, twice, until Jessie is reeling beneath her, hips canting and squirming against her thigh, eager for some kind of friction she can only just find. 

When Yaz shifts, offering up a better angle, Jessie groans heartily, thighs hooking over her hips and encouraging a slow grind from Yaz’s own. The movement almost has the dark-haired woman toppling over the edge of the sofa, so she pauses, frustrated and needy. “Shall we - _fuck_ -” she’s cut off mid-sentence by the sudden presence of Jessie’s lips against her chest, pearly whites skimming a deep brown, dusky nipple. 

“That was the plan, I think,” Jessie smirks against her flesh, her voice sending vibrations like aftershocks through the stiffened flesh.

“No, I - _pleasedothatagain,”_ Yaz urges, arching her back to allow Jessie to capture her nipple between her teeth, if briefly. “I meant to say - mng, shall we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

Jessie almost  _whines_ at the thought of having to untangle herself, but visions of having Yaz spread out before her to indulge in undermines any complaints. “Perhaps that would be best, yes.”

They barely make it to Jessie’s bedroom before they collide once more, the door to Yaz’s back in seconds while she tries and fails to regain her dominance. Jessie slides a slim, toned thigh between her legs, raising her knee to the apex of her thighs and applying pressure while she works her nipples into stiff peaks. Yaz is seeing stars, hips grinding down against her while she wills her legs not to give way beneath her.

Once her task is complete, Jessie catches Yaz’s bottom lip between her own and drags her back into a frenzied, slightly messy kiss which leaves lips swollen and pupils hazy with need. Emboldened, Jessie slips a hand between them to hook her fingers around her fly, dragging the zip down and, after Yaz’s swift nod, drawing her jeans over her thighs and off. 

Jessie wastes no time before testing the waters, tentative fingertips dancing over the lace of her underwear only to be embraced by slick, damp heat. She moans softly in surprise, watching the way Yaz’s lashes flutter and her head shoots back against the wall, hips twitching. 

“I could have you right here, against this door,” Jessie purrs, nibbling at her earlobe while she draws slow circles against her through her underwear, navigating blindly to find the sensitive bundle of nerves which will make the other woman fall apart in due course. Her words seem to have an effect, however, as a second wave of warmth envelopes her digits and a low moan ricochets and bounces off the walls of her room. “Or I could have you on that bed. Either way, I really, _really_ need you right now.”

Yaz regains enough control over herself to reach out for Jessie’s hips, drawing them against her own by slipping her hands into the back pockets of the trousers she’d been looking forward to taking off all day. With a surprised but delighted hum from the blonde, they’re flush together. “We need to even out this clothing situation first, I think.”

Yaz almost whimpers at the loss when Jessie pulls her hand away to undo and wriggle clumsily from her plaid trousers, letting them pool at her feet. Yaz takes in the sight with an awestruck smile. She hasn’t seen anyone so beautiful in all her years. “You’re - god, you’re _gorgeous_.”

Yaz leans in, nipping playfully at her bottom lip. She sets her hands on her hips, then slips them along to the seams of her sunflower-dusted underwear to press their hips together once more. “Take me to bed.”

The commanding tone has Jessie’s knees turning to jelly, her toes curling in the plush carpet, their levelled gaze conveying solely desire. She wants, no,  _needs_ to have the other woman crash and burn against her. Turning, she walks her lover backwards towards the bed, letting her clamber on before she straddles her slim hips. Sitting back, she finally has a chance to take her in, walking her fingertips along her collarbone to her chest, circling a pebbled nipple before venturing further. There’s a sensitive spot just below her stomach which has Yaz squirming, hips shifting, but she finds the other woman’s eyes focused on the skin of her hip. 

“You have a tattoo,” Yaz murmurs breathlessly, sitting up to take an inquisitive look. She brushes the pads of her fingers over the painted skin, a single sunflower peeking out from the waistband of her underwear. It matches, coincidentally. 

“I was sixteen and a friend of mine had their own tattoo pen. Couldn’t resist,” Jessie chuckles, taking a moment to quell her nerves before she’s distracted by the warm hand now cupping warm, damp flesh. She gasps, Yaz’s touch so reverent and tentative. She’d been waiting for this moment for so long, but it feels so much better than the glimpses she’d experienced in her dreams. She momentarily curses the grey material of her underwear for presenting her clear arousal so unashamedly. 

It seems Yaz notices, too, if her breathy moan is anything to go by. “You’re so ready for me,” she purrs, leaning in to breathe hot air against her pulse point. Jessie sighs and keens, hips twitching, before she copies her movements, reaching between them to palm at swollen, sensitive flesh through the material. 

When Yaz hooks her fingers into the waistband of Jessie’s patterned knickers, she meets her gaze with a level of lust Jessie hasn’t ever witnessed before. “Please?”

“Maybe - _Yaz_ …” Jessie moans when lips and teeth and tongue meet the crook of her shoulder, another flood of heat rushing to the space between her legs. “Maybe we could - uh, do it together? I think this might _actually_ kill me off, but I want to touch you, too. I want you. _I need you,_ ” she stammers as Yaz’s ministrations continue, glancing up only when she pulls back. 

“That’s a good idea, yes. I don’t think I can wait any longer, either,” Yas croons, lifting her hips to slip the last remaining garment from her form. Jessie follows suit, climbing back into her lap and biting down on a moan against Yaz’s shoulder when flesh meets flesh briefly. 

In synchronisation, both women reach out, eager hands finding their places, swollen lips pressing to every inch of skin they can find. 

Jessie’s body temperature is always a touch lower than Yaz’s, so when cool fingertips finally brush against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, Yaz gasps harshly against the curve of her jaw, forehead dropping to her shoulder. 

Yaz skims her fingertips along the blonde’s thighs until she’s all but begging for her touch, a quiet flurry of ‘please’s falling past parted lips. Her jaw falls slack when Yaz immediately presses her thumb firmly against her clit, drawing tight little circles against the engorged flesh. 

Jessie ups her game, thumb circling lightly over her clit while her fingertips drift towards her entrance. “This okay?” Her voice is shaky and hoarse with need as she applies gentle pressure with her index finger. 

“More than okay. Please, I need you inside me,” Yaz purrs, ducking her head to take a nipple between her lips. Jessie meets her gaze when she slips a digit easily past her folds, her pupils shining with the perfect mixture of possessiveness, desperation and affection. Yaz doesn’t think she’s ever been so aroused in her life, a groan tumbling from her talented tongue, which swirls and laps at her chest. 

The pressure on Jessie’s clit heightens when Jessie starts to slowly thrust inside her welcoming warmth, Yaz’s movements faltering for a moment before she traces her name over her clit with her thumb, claiming the sensitive flesh as her own. “Christ, you’re so _good_.”

Yaz leans in to kiss her at the exact point a digit sinks into her core, slick arousal immediately coating her skin. She’s copying her movements now, breathy moans and groans drowning out the sounds of their ministrations. 

Their kisses turn lazy and messy the closer they get on their collision course, a particularly well-angled thrust leaving Yaz to clutch and claw at Jessie’s back and shoulders with the hand not currently occupied. “Right there, Christ, _right there.”_

Jessie sinks her teeth into Yaz’s shoulder when she starts to careen over the edge earlier than her counterpart, desperately holding back and increasing her thrusts tenfold. She presses down, hard, against her clit, triggering a series of desperate whines and moans and rolls of her hips. 

“I’m - I’m so-” Jessie pants against marked flesh, circling Yaz’s clit firmly, wrist beginning to twinge in discomfort. “I’m so close.”

Yaz pants into the slim space between their tangled bodies, beads of sweat clinging to her brow. She’s too breathless to word out a response, so she simply groans, twisting her hips for an even better angle. 

“I’m going to - _fuck_ \- I’m going to-,” Yaz gasps less than a minute later, Jessie’s digit curling to brush against soaked walls and making her dizzy. 

“Together?” Jessie whispers, dropping her forehead against the crook of Yaz’s neck. Her voice conveys her desperation, and Yaz watches in fascination as her stomach muscles tense and tremble, keeping at bay an impending flood. 

“Together,” Yaz agrees, then commits herself solely to the task at hand (literally). She adds another digit just to hear the breathy groan which falls against her neck, increasing the pressure on her clit. Stars swim in her vision when Jessie ducks her head to mouth at her chest again, although this time she’s all teeth, claiming the skin pinkening between pearly whites. 

They fall apart within seconds of each other, movements turning frantic and clumsy until they’re clinging to each other and crying out in unison. The sound is like music to Yaz’s ears, hips twitching and squirming as aftershocks rack her body. They stay wrapped up in each other until feeling drifts back into their limbs, by which time they’re giddy and giggling. 

“You’re brilliant, Yaz. Proper brilliant,” Jessie croons, untangling from her lover to flop back onto the bed at her side with the elegance of a baby giraffe. She reaches out for her, drawing her against her chest when she complies. 

Yaz finds herself lost in the warmth Jessie’s eyes emanate, the glow to her features making her appear as though she’s from a dream. “Hey babe, pinch me.”

“Why?” Jessie tilts her head, puppy-like, and refuses the request in favour of dotting a kiss to her hairline. 

“Because this has to be too good to be true,” Yaz admits, shifting onto her side so she can lay her head on Jessie’s chest. The slowing beat of her heart confirms the present situation to be real, encouraging a satisfied smile to tug and curl at swollen lips. She walks her fingertips down her chest to her abdomen, then across to the sunflower inked into her skin. She suddenly finds herself wanting to press her lips to the skin there, to map her out with her tongue and leave her writhing beneath her lips. 

“Already making plans for round two, huh?” Jessie quips, observing the way Yaz’s pupils transition to a shade darker while she takes her in. 

The only form of reply she receives in return is a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from her neck to her hips, then, finally, a slick tongue lapping at the bundle of nerves between her legs. “Wow - okay, that’s - ah, mmn, - oh, _Yaz -_  I’ll shut up now.”

Another hour and two more mind-numbing orgasms later, bare limbs link together like long-lost puzzle pieces, toes curling in dishevelled sheets while eyes bore into their counterparts. Yaz allows her hands to explore, ghosting over the marks she’s littered across her lover’s chest. Jessie is a little more dazed, docile and sated and unable to wipe a giddy grin from her lips. Yaz’s reverent touches and caresses lure her into a shallow doze, during which she suddenly senses eyes on her. 

“Can I ask you something?” Yaz whispers, voice hoarse from overuse (Jessie had made sure of that, apparently eager to draw as many sounds from her as possible). She combs her fingers idly through her hair, drawing out any knots to untangle gently. 

“Of course, what is it? Something wrong? I didn’t take it too far, did I? Oh, no. I did, didn’t I? I’m so sor-” She's stopped in her rambles by a flurry of laughter at her side, Yaz’s features alight with amusement. 

“No, silly. You’ve been perfect. I’ve actually wanted to ask you this for a while, now,” Yaz continues, nerves enveloping her stomach and heating her cheeks. 

“Oh. Oh! I - sorry, Yaz, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for marriage yet,” Jessie deadpans, leaving Yaz utterly flummoxed and speechless until the blonde’s lips curl into a far too smug grin. “Are you going to ask me to be your girlfriend? Because if so, thirteen times yes, if not, this is going to be very awkward.”

Trust Jessie to leave Yaz blushing and at a loss for words, the dark-haired woman thinks to herself, reaching out to tip Jessie’s chin up. She captures her lips in a slow kiss while she thinks of the words to say. When she pulls back, she takes in the unabashed hope swimming in green eyes and the suddenly racing pulse in her lover’s neck with the warmest of smiles. “Be my girlfriend, you nutter.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!!!


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